Cured
by TheAlmightySun
Summary: For years Amaroe, Gaius's first apprenitce, worked to try and find a cure for magic. For years he's conducted cruel experiments on captured sorcerers, playing with the very nature of magic itself. Now, with the support of Camelot's King, he's succeeded.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One:

It was one of those evenings at the end of winter, when the clouds were grey and the trees moist with the previous night's rain. The great city of Camelot was bustling with noise and movement as traders and peasants hurried about, closing their businesses for the night. Children dressed in rugs carried bowls of water back to their homes from the fountain at the King's Court. Foraginers, young men with large wagons and hidden goods, eyed young girls and women as they passed by with the smaller children, hooting and whistling. They were here for the grand celebrations of the Prince's twenty third birthday, and had come from all over the realm- all over the Five Kingdoms.

The Five Kingdoms, of which Camelot was by far the largest and most wealthy, were the largest and most powerful force in the region. They hardly shared any borders at all, but what they did share were the agreements of peace signed just a few years previously. Now, the royal courts of said kingdoms were readying to gather at Camelot, as they had only five years ago, when the young heir had turned eighteen. Twenty three was an important age in Camelot. It had no name, but the children of the court, in their eagerness to witness this day, had found it one. To them, it had come to be known as The Age of Responsibility.

But more on that later.

At this same evening, while the young girls smiled back at the handsome foreigners and the knights of Camelot marched the streets, keeping the peace, King Uther was at the Meeting Hall in the castle, dressed in his finest robes and staring out the window, heart thumping in his chest.

This was it, then.

He turned his gaze thoughtfully to a small, rat like man grinning ruthlessly at him through exceptionally light, small eyes.

The two men stood silently, studying each other. A curious spark could be seen in Uther's eyes, as he considered the man before him. They had not seen each other in many years, and he had begun to think they never would.

At that same moment, in an explosion of noise Prince Arthur burst in, dressed somewhat hastily in a rather gooey red robe. His manservant, a boy known only as Merlin whom Uther scarcely precieved, came after him, his eyes laughing, stumbling over his own clumsy feet as he carried his Master's sword. The two paused at the entrance, the heavy oak doors closing behind them.

"I apologize for my delay, father," Arthur said, straining not to give the still grinning boy a murderous glare. "There was a disturbance in my chambers."

"I hope everything is well," Uther said, moving his gaze from the pale man to his disarrayed son.

"Just… a mouse," Arthur muttered vaguely. He glanced back at his servant, who let out a hardly discreet chuckle, and muttered something which had him quite considerably.

The sun was beginning to set outside, and the meeting hall was unusually dark. The guards that normally lined the walls were absent, and this servant boy was to be no different. "This is a private meeting," Uther said, staring at Merlin. "State matters." He added, as his son gave him a questioning look. Arthur nodded, and turned to his servant, smirking only a bit.

"Off you go then," He said, seeming a tad pleased to see the disappointed curiosity growing behind Merlin's bowed head. "The horses need to be fed, I think."

Merlin bowed his head and left, the guards stationed outside closing the door behind him.

Arthur returned his gave to the others in the room. The man was standing before the king, dressed in new, black robes with a silver belt tied around his thin waist, grinning disconcertingly from ear to ear. By his side, visibly trying to keep away from him stood a young girl of maybe thirteen years, her blonde hair hanging lifelessly around her face. She stood hunched, her hands tied in front of her with iron chains held by two dark skinned giants who stood motionlessly, staring forward. But there was no time for catching up, Uther knew. Not now. When the end was so near.

"We are all here, Amaroe," He told the man, walking over to his throne and sitting comfertably within it.

Amaroe breathed in deeply, laboring to hide the excitement sipping off his every vowel. "It is ready, my Lord," he said.

Uther raised his eyebrows, surprised.

"Well, it certainly took... a while," He said, glancing briefly at the young girl. "Have you tested it?"

"Yes," the man said, nodding his head enthusiastically.

"And?"

Amaroe's smile widened, showing his yellowing teeth. He was not a good-looking man, his skin pale and diseased, his eyes small and haunted. But Uther did not need him for that. "It's perfect, Sire."

"Good," The king said, smiling. "Very good. And the side effects?"

"Nothing much, my Lord." Amaroe was saying. "Some of the tested showed signs of… loss of appetite, nightmares, and a decrease in speech. Otherwise the patients are perfectly healthy."

"And that's all?"

"Yes," The man said certainly, but then glanced at the girl, pausing. "Well, no." She was shivering. But it was winter, and she was wearing hardly anything at all. "It appears that the symptoms get worse the more powerful the illness, my lord. And they take longer to take-effect."

"Ah," Uther said, thoughtful. "But, the purpose is... acquired?"

"Yes. Of that I am certain, my lord."

There was a moment of silence, as the king gazed at the young girl. Tears slid down her face, as she stood motionless in the dark, shaking slightly with fear. She, too, was pale, her hair blonde and filthy from dirt and debris.

He felt his heart ripping his chest apart.

This was it, then.

"Excellent!" Uther grinned with satisfaction. "You will be well rewarded for this, Amaroe, well rewarded! Guards!" He called loudly, and the men standing outside the hall opened the door slightly. "Give the man his gold." They left hurriedly, bowing low. "Now," the king muttered, turning back to Amaroe. "We must find a way to administer the cure to the ill, without harming the… _normal_."

"That is not a problem, my lord," Amaroe said, his eyes shining sadistically. "My cure does not affect anyone but the ones that it should."

There was a moment of silence. Voices from the training field seeped in through the windows, of eager young lads tired of winter. "What are you saying, Amaroe?" The king asked, his excitement evident in his hungry eyes.

"We could pour it into the water," Amaroe said. He licked his lips greedily. "No one need know."

The king stood up, and looked out the window at his prospering city below once again.

He closed his eyes, imagining it, free of the pollution of sorcery. Arthur stood, silent and thoughtful, beneath his throne. He seemed slightly bothered, but overall, did not object. Uther's worse nightmare was that one day, Arthur would find out about the death of his mother and the circumstances of his birth. With all the sorcerers in the kingdom powerless, finding the few who knew about the occurrences of twenty-four years before would not be difficult.

"Do it," He said. Amaroe's smile grew.

"Yes, my lord," he said, and behind him the girl began to whimper silently. "Of course."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

He could see the stars.

They winked at him, joyful, from the black blanket that was the sky. He hadn't seen the heavens in hours; the thick foliage of the treetops hid it thoroughly. Lancelot gazed upwards, letting his horse rest and nibble lightly on the clearing's grass. Their light washed over him, and he closed his eyes, smiling.

He'd been riding in the woods for the past month or so, heading nowhere in particular, searching for himself. It wasn't much of a search really. All his life he'd been striving to become someone. A knight: noble and gallant, saving the lives of the people. But with that dream becoming as unlikely as it had, Lancelot found himself with a lot of free time.

In the rucksack on his back was a canteen of water, an unopened map, and a bag of food packed by the village woman he'd met only days ago, whose son he helped find after the boy got lost in the forest. He was heading south, toward Camelot. He wasn't sure yet if he would enter through the city gates. He wished to visit his friends there, Gaius and Merlin, but the idea of seeing Gwen, the woman he loved, and not being able to express his feelings for her was too intolerable to bear.

And yet he was riding the road, slowly and surely, toward the great city.

Lancelot got off the horse, petting it affectionately on the head. He'd gotten Brown at a market in the east, from a merchant whose daughter he had helped to escape from bandits in the road. He hadn't chosen the name.

He sat under a particularly large tree, the ground beneath him soggy. The forest was peaceful, only the sounds of the nesting birds bothering its tranquility. A wolf howled in the distance, as Lancelot leaned back, breathing in the cool night's air.

The sound of women's voices broke the silence.

"My lady, please stop!"

"I would if I could, don't you think!"

Lancelot got to his feet, looking around for the source.

"Just pull at the reins!"

"What do you think I've been doing for the past- Ahhh!"

A horse broke through the tree line, galloping madly through the clearing. Lancelot jumped out of the way, landing unceremoniously in a bush. A woman had been sitting on it, her long dress waving in the air behind her, holding on for dear life.

"Wait! My lady!" Another horse came through, this one still under the control of its mistress. Her eyes were open wide and frightened as she pushed the animal on, calling loudly.

"Hi!" Lancelot said. "Are you alright?"

"Help!" The girl said, not stopping. "It was spooked by the wolves!"

Lancelot grabbed Brown's reins, jumping on. She reacted instantly, sprinting after the other horses at the speed of light. The girl who'd talked with him pointed the way as he was passing her by. He could just see the petrified horse and the girl sitting upon it breaking through the trees powerfully, heading toward god knows where.

He caught up to them slowly, letting go of his reins. The girl looked at him, frightened. "Give me your hand," He yelled, and she did.

He caught her, pulling her onto Brown's back. Her heart beat against his vest, and she held on tight. Her horse kept running. Lancelot slowed Brown till she was moving at a light trot.

"You can let go now," He told the girl when Brown stopped. She smiled shakily, dropping onto the moist soil. Her companion caught up with them, hysteric.

"My lady! Are you all right? Are you hurt?"

"No, Lora," the girl said. Lancelot slid down from Brown's back, catching Lora as she fell off her horse. "I'm fine."

"But- the stallion-!" Lora breathed, accepting Lancelot's assistance with gratitude.

"It was no stallion. Let it run. I promise it'll be back in its stable by the time we get back to Zorath."

Lora bit her lips, uncertain. The girl turned to Lancelot, smiling again. She was very lovely, with long, billowing hair reaching down to her waist and large, chocolate brown eyes. "My name is lady Atora of Zorath," She said. "My father is King Boro's twin brother, and I owe you my life."

**Hello...**

**This is the beginning of the story (quite obvious by the fact that it says "Chapter one" at the beginning...). It's been rewritten, but you can forgive me that, can't you? This is why some of the chapters have the wrong chapter number at the top. But never mind that.**

**This is one of those Merlin bushing stories we all love so much. The bushing is just around the corner, worry not. If you have any ideas, suggestions, criticism, hatemail, etc- please let me know! I'm sort of using FFN for my own purposes, to improve my writing, and long, fat, point by point reviews/ messages are sort of the aim... But also short, whimsy, one word reviews of encouragement, only to make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.**

**So... I hope you enjoy the rest! (And give Norane a chance. Please. She has a point, I swear. :-) )**


	2. Chapter 2

**Cured**

**_By TheAlmightySun_**

**Chapter three**

_____

"So where are you headed?" Lancelot asked while he, Lady Atora, and her faithful servant, Lora, were walking with the two horses back toward the path.

Atora was sitting on Brown's back. She sat like a village girl would sit, rather then a dignified lady, with her skirts pulled back. Lancelot himself was walking, holding Brown's reins and feeding her carrots out of his pocket. He'd insisted on being the one to walk, after Atora's many refusals.

"We were riding toward Camelot," Atora said, her intent eyes turning to gaze sightlessly into the forest. "Arthur Pendragon's birthday is a few days away. We are already late."

"Ah," Lancelot nodded, eyeing her from the corner of his eye. Lora coughed uncomfortably. Atora paid her no notice.

"I was heading that way myself." He said. Brown nuzzled him affectionately, and he rubbed her head. "Not for the celebrations, of course," he added, seeing Lora's surprised smile. "I wouldn't be invited to such things."

"You're not missing much," the servant said, unsuccessfully trying to decrease the attention from her now silent lady. "Just a lot of speeches and wine."

"I thought as much," Lancelot chuckled, seeing the clearing up ahead. "Would you like me to ride with you?"

"We are short one horse," Lora nodded, turning to Atora questioningly. "Atora?"

"Hmm?" The lady said, breaking out of her reverie. "Did you say something?"

"Yes," Lora said patiently. "Lancelot was asking if he could-"

"Yes, sure," Atora said. "But Lora and I will have to ride together. I can't allow you to walk the entire way."

"It's fine, really, my lady-"

"For me," She said, and Lancelot laughed. "And please, call me Atora. The whole 'lady' situation is awkward enough as it is."

"I thought you were the King's niece," Lancelot mentioned, picking up his rucksack. They had reached the clearing. "We should probably make camp," He added as an afterthought, putting it back down. It was getting very dark, and the sounds of haunting animals had begun to fill the cool night.

Atora slid off Brown's back, her eyes clouded with thought.

"She is," Lora confirmed after a pause, when Atora, who was staring at Brown's neck, did not reply. Lancelot helped her off the horse. She thanked him, pulling out the night's supplies.

They set up a tent under the starry sky, and Lancelot built a fire with twigs Lora collected.

Atora had once again sunk into her deep thoughts. Lora looked at her with worry.

"Have you got any food?" He asked, tending the flames.

"Yes, of course," Lora muttered, taking a bag off her horse's back. She gave it to Lancelot, who took out a few pieces of meat, and placed them over the fire.

"I think-" Atora paused, thoughtful. "I think I'll go rest, if that's alright."

"What ever you want, my lady," Lora said, and Atora sighed. Lancelot turned the meat. The girl went inside the tent, closing the cloth behind her.

They sat around the fire, staring into its depth.

"She's not usually like this," Lora said finally.

"I didn't say anything," Lancelot hurried to insist, kicking himself.

"I know she seems odd," Lora said, giving him a helpless look. "I mean- brooding. And sad. But she has a good reason, truly."

Lancelot glanced at her curiously, wondering. "She doesn't- that is, she seems distracted."

Lora turned her gaze back to the flames. "I..." She swallowed. "Lady Atora is a complicated individual," She said, not meeting Lancelot's gaze. He turned away, sorry for asking. Lora bit her lip. "She sometimes… dwells on the past. Don't we all?" She giggled, playing with the twigs by the fire. Lancelot nodded, glancing briefly at the silent tent. Sounds of movement could be heard from within, and harsh gasps.

"Is she-"

"She's having a nightmare," Lora said quickly, getting up. "I should give her some-" the noise subsided. Lora gazed hesitantly at the tent, before sitting back down, heaving a sigh. He repositioned the meat, and leaned backwards against the tree behind him.

Lora was young, maybe seventeen, with short black hair and large, light eyes. Her skin was especially pale and milky, and around her neck she wore an old wooden pendent. Lancelot could tell she cared dearly for Atora, though she seemed at a loss when it came to her odd mistress.

"And what of you, sir Lancelot?" The girl asked, eyeing him suddenly. "Do you make a habit of saving young girls from mad horses in the thicket of the forest?"

He smiled. "I haven't got anything better to do, to be honest," He said, and Lora raised her eyebrows. "I come from a small village. I know little other then sword fighting and battle tactics, but you'd be surprised how few people need men such as myself."

"Certainly not," She said, astounded. "With new wars being started every other week!"

"It's alright," he hurried to say, chuckling. "I've enjoyed my freedom. Warfare was never what I wanted to do. Just help and save people. And I don't need uniform to do that."

"Clearly," She smiled. Lancelot laughed, checking on the food.

"It's a bit raw," he said, passing her a slice. "And hot."

"That's fine," she muttered, gratefully. Lancelot took his canteen out of the bag, offering her the water.

"I wish… that you'd excuse my lady, sir Lancelot," Lora said then, giving him a despairing gaze. "She's been through much in her short life. And going to Camelot… It seems to upset her, somehow."

"I understand," he said, straining to deflate the curiosity inflating within him. "We all have tragedies in our past."

"Yes," Lora nodded, hesitantly. She glanced at the tent. "But lady Atora's…" She trailed off. She looked down at the food in her arms, and then handed it back to Lancelot.

"I'm sorry," She said. The sounds from the tent begun again, as Atora's nightmares returned. "I seem to have lost my appetite."

She stood up uncertainly, giving him an apologetic look.

"Good night, miss Lora," He said, getting up as well.

She blushed, and turned toward the tent. "Good night, sir Lancelot."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Two days later Gaius was packing his bag.

"I don't understand why you have to leave," Merlin said, leaning on the table, watching his friend and teacher as he packed food into an old rucksack. "I could go get the herb myself. There's no need for you to travel half way across the country all by yourself."

"I doubt you'll recognize it, Merlin," Gaius said, sniffing a suspicious looking loaf of bread. "The Borkea herb is rare, and looks very similar to its poisonous counterpart, the Gorao flower."

"Right."

"Beside, I've been meaning to go to the Valley of Jorks for quite some time now. A good friend of mine lives in the nearby forest, and she's been promising me a new soup recipe since before I met your mother."

"I could come with you, then." Merlin offered. He couldn't remember the last time he's had a vacation. With the Prince's birthday coming up in exactly nine days, he couldn't bear the thought of all the preparations that would have to be done. Neighboring kings were coming to visit, along with their many young daughters, hopeful for a possible match. Of course they had no chance. Arthur was still obsessed with Gwen, the servant girl his father would never allow him to marry. And yet the princesses would come, demanding flowers and perfumes and fluffy pillows, all of which would be delivered, of course, by Merlin.

"Don't be silly," Gaius said, smiling. "Arthur needs your help here. You shouldn't miss the grand celebrations."

Merlin sighed. Closing his bag, Gaius laughed. "Don't worry, Merlin," He comforted. "It won't be that terrible. I'll be back in a week or two, so try not to destroy the city while I'm away."

"I'll do my best," Merlin said, smiling as well. He glanced out the window. The sun was about to rise. He cursed, diving for his magically cleaned vest. "I've got to get Arthur his breakfast," He yelped, putting it on hurriedly. "Good luck!"

Gaius chuckled as the front door closed loudly behind the running boy, pulling his bag to his shoulders. Before he left he noticed the magic book he'd once given his young apprentice, slightly visible underneath a pile of older notes.

"That boy will be the death of me," He muttered, taking the book and placing it carefully in its usual place, behind the fireplace. Finished, he pulled up his rucksack once more, glanced in amusement around at his familiar home and the mess Merlin had managed to bring to it in just a few short months, and left.

Outside, Merlin was running toward the castle kitchens, trying at the same time to pull his left shoe on and slide his arm through the sleeves of the vest.

He saw Gwen on her way as well, carrying a bucket filled with water from the well. She eyed him with raised eyebrows.

"Late again, Merlin?" She asked, amused, and smiled at him.

"Me? No," He denied, grinning. "You wouldn't possibly let me burrow some of that?"

Gwen rolled her eyes. "Of course. Don't I always?"

"Thanks." She gave him the bucket, and, sinking his hand into it, he drunk. Gwen laughed.

"The farmers were late with the vegetables this morning," He said once he finished.

"Sure they were."

"Yes. And the cooks were taking longer then ever to light the fire."

"Merlin?"

"Yes?"

"Don't make up defenses. Run!"

Laughing, he rushed over to the kitchens, hurriedly placing together a plate and a glass of orange juice. The cooks were eyeing him, entertained.

"I have an excuse this time," He said, picking a loaf of bread from the oven.

"You always have an excuse," Mora, the chef, chuckled. "It's just never any good."

Merlin smirked at her, grabbing the plate and rushing out the door, to the Prince's chambers. The sun was almost fully up. Arthur would have his head if he were late again. It would be the eighth time this week, not to mention that thing with the mouse, and the robe, which was still a tad too lively to-

He crushed into someone, falling to his knees. Desperately he leaped after the plate, catching it as it fell, only to watch the juice sip into the sandy ground. Merlin banged his head on the dirt. He was doomed.

"I'm sorry," A voice said behind him, and he turned. A young girl stood there, light of hair with strange blue eyes. "I didn't mean to trip you."

Merlin blinked at her. She seemed familiar, somehow. "It's my fault," he said, getting up. On second glance, he saw that her wrists were bloody, as if they've recently been untied. She saw him looking, and pulled down her sleeves.

"What's…" Merlin looked her over. She was pale, and small. As if she was recently released from a dungeon. "happened to you?"

She looked down. Her voice was bitter. "I was sick."

Merlin gazed at her hands again, frowning. "…Oh."

There was an awkward silence. The girl was small, and skeletal. She looked at the ground, seeming lost.

"Are you better now?" He asked, uncertain.

She raised her eyes to him, and he saw her tears. "No." he barely heard her words.

"Merlin!" Merlin's head snapped up. Arthur was at the castle entrance, fully dressed and furious. "It's practically midday! I've got men to train!"

He turned back to the girl. "I have to go," He murmured apologetically. She said nothing, staring up at him, tears sliding down her childish face. "It's gonna be alright," he told her.

She didn't answer. Her eyes fell back to the ground. Her face became emotionless.

"Merlin!"

He glanced up.

"Merlin!"

When he glanced back down, she was gone.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Arthur was abusing his food.

"There's no need to be so-"

"Be quite, Merlin."

Merlin shut up. He glanced out the window, still thinking about the little girl.

"Where's my juice?" Arthur demanded after awhile, glancing at the half empty glass.

"…I fell on the way over."

"Of course you did. I have no idea why I take all this nonsense from you, Merlin. You're one of the worst servants I've ever had in my entire life. Actually, I think you ARE the worst. I've never met anyone who was such a-"

"Is there something bothering you, Sire?" Arthur paused. Merlin eyed him, slightly amused.

"It's my father," Arthur said slowly, putting down his fork. "He's reopened his campaign against magic a couple days ago."

Merlin bit his lip, thinking. "I see."

"Yes," Arthurs said. "He's been talking about nothing but since Morgana's kidnapping. We've gathered six suspects since she was taken, and they're all dead."

Merlin lowered his gaze. He knew that. He's been present in every single execution, watching the five guilty sorcerers as they burned in the flames. One of the six was innocent. She was a sorceress, certainly, but she was a healer, and has never harmed a soul. She was a poor woman, who left six orphaned children behind, all of which were now under Uther's suspicion. The oldest was ten. Merlin remembered her death vividly. He didn't see it, since Gaius wouldn't let him out of the house, fearing he would save her and reveal his magic powers- but he heard it. Not her screams- she was silent. But her children's high pitched sobbing and screams of pain had filled his mind days after.

"It's not that I… disagree," Arthur said, pulling Merlin out of his reverie. "I know sorcery is an evil craft. I know anyone who uses it must be punished accordingly. But…"

"What is it, sire?"

Arthur sighed, looking up at Merlin. His eyes were lost. "You should have seen her," he said, quietly, as though someone could hear them. "That… Amaroe, the scientist- he's been working somewhere in the north, for years, on a way to bind a sorcerer's magic without killing him. And… now he's done it. He'd… perfected… a cure."

"Oh," Merlin hummed. A… cure?

"But- you should have seen the girl he brought as his grand achievement," Arthur said, jumping out of his chair, pacing. "She was, what, twelve? The tiniest thing I've ever seen, never seen a scrap of sunlight in her entire life- she just stood there, sobbing in the corner." Merlin looked out the window again. So she was a prisoner. "Amaroe said she was a sorceress, but how can such a small child be evil? And… well, she was… odd. Not normal. She kept looking at the floor, and when she wasn't looking at the floor, she was looking around widely, like she was… _searching_ for something."

"Searching, sire?"

"Yes!" Arthur paused his march, looking back at Merlin with a confused, unsure gaze. "I'm just… she was a shell, Merlin. A shell of a kid, and… Well, isn't it better to kill them, rather then condemn them to such a hell? She seemed so… fragile. And broken. And when they've set her loose in the city she just stood there, by the gates. Like she didn't know where to go."

Merlin looked at the prince, biting his lips. "Well, maybe… maybe it only worked on her. Maybe it won't work on anyone else."

"If it won't, Amaroe would lose his head," Arthur muttered, beginning to pace again. "I haven't seen my father so happy in years."

"You can't be sure," Merlin continued, moving to clean the untouched plate. "Sorcerers are tricky. They're bound to find a way out of… whatever it is."

"And stay in Camelot?" Arthur protested, grabbing his plate out of Merlin's hands. "Filling the city with their evil magic?"

Merlin closed his eyes. It was hard, lying, forever. "I know. Sire. I'm sorry."

"You better be," Arthur sat back down, but remained motionless over the plate. There was silence.

"Take it away, Merlin," He said finally, motionless. "I've lost my appetite."

"Yes, Sire."

As he was leaving the room, thoughts cloudy, Merlin saw Arthur rest his head on his hands, deep in thought.

**Day five:**

The Borkea herb was one of the most grotesque plants ever discovered by man.

It was a sickish gray color with thorns, out of which oozed a yellow, snot-like substance that smelled of horse dung.

Apart from that, it was also the key ingredient in Gaius's most successful flu remedies.

Jorks Valley at the end of winter was a snow carpeted wonder. Gaius breathed in the night's air, looking down into the valley, where the village of Jorks lay, hidden beneath the heavy snow. On the path toward it stood his old friend, Moro, smiling his wide smile, and waved. Gaius laughed, leading the horse down the path.

"Hello there, old man!" Moro called, turning his own horse and joining Gaius on his ride to the village. "It has been too long."

"Indeed, my friend," Gaius said, eyeing the familiar stranger. "You've become a man."

"As all boys must," Moro nodded. "You look well. Has the journey been difficult? We did not expect such a storm so late in the season."

"It was fine," Gaius replied. "Though I fear my toes have turned into stone."

"We must fix that," Moro chuckled. "Follow me. I have a burning oven and a royal dinner waiting for you."

"And the young lady of whom I've heard so much about?" Gaius questioned, teasing slightly.

"We're not sure if it's a girl yet. But- four more months!" Moro said, and pulled the horse's reigns to spring into a gallop. Feeling once again a young, vibrant wizard Gaius followed him, in a hurried trot.

OOOOOOOO

"And what have you been up to all these years, Moro?" He asked, putting down his fork.

"I am a physician," The man said, "as you must have assumed from the start. Your remedies have done wonders on the town people, Gaius- many of them owe you their lives."

"They are just remedies," Gaius conceded with a smile. "It is the healer that is to blame for any success."

"And so I blame you," Moro chuckled, and his wife, the beautiful Perry, grinned at him affectionately.

"But onto more serious business," Gaius continued, emptying his water glass. He had told Merlin that he had left for Jorks for a mere visit, but that was a lie. He came to offer assistance to his helpless old charge. Gaius smiled at Perry, whose previously joyous eyes turned to her swollen stomach, troubled. "You've told me of a sickness in your letter. A plague."

"I thought it was a plague, at first," she muttered. Gaius had known Perry since she was a small child, and her father, Percy, died under his care. "That is- it spread so quickly. In one day, eight sick. The next, seventeen more. But after the first week it's stopped spreading, and only those affected remained ill."

"So it is not fatal," Gaius assumed, while Moro began clearing the table, gesturing for his wife to sit down.

"Well," She said, uncertainly. "It's… difficult to say."

There was a moment of silence. Gaius leaned forward on the table, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"There were thirty seven sick in all," Moro said, coming back. "they came for me for remedies. Those who became sick at first, well, they confused me- that is, the later to fall were… well, more powerful, that is. Sorcerers," he said.

"Ah," Gaius said, leaning back. "Sorcerers?"

"Yes." Perry muttered, rubbing her stomach in thought. "The illness started just last month, and at first we thought it was some sort of flu- that is, the ill complained of headaches. Moro gave them the usual remedies and sent them on their way. But then the next day, they would return- usually brought by a friend, or family member- confused, silent, looking this way and that as if… as if they were _searching_ for something."

"And they were sorcerers?"

"That's it exactly," Moro said. "I know most of those who use sorcery in Jorks- but these new ones I did not recognize. Later I realized that they were indeed sorcerers- very weak ones, some of them not even aware of their powers."

"And you discovered this when…"

"When more ill began to arrive," Perry said. Her face grew dark. "Them I personally knew as sorcerers for certain. They came, again with the strange headaches, and then… complaining that they'd… lost, something, Gaius." She gave the man who raised her a pleading look. "At first it was just the way they searched around, like the others before them, but after a few days it became more frantic, hysteric, and they would mutter under their breath about things that are gone and lost forever. The first wave of sick people remained as they were, muted and hurting, always searching for something just beyond their reach- but still working, functioning within the town, so it truly seemed just a flu. But the others…"

Moro left for the kitchen again, returning with a steaming teapot and cups. He seemed saddened. "What?" Gaius asked, looking from him to his wife, as they looked at each other mournfully.

"They just kept getting worse," Perry said. "After another day they stopped coming- I went to visit them in the village to try and figure out what was wrong. They were so lost, Gaius. No matter what I gave them, they would remain within themselves, obsessed with whatever it was they were searching for. That's all they talked about. They could think of nothing else. Only whenever I asked them what they were looking for, what they'd lost, they won't be able to tell me. They'd forgotten."

Perry poured the tea while Moro sat, taking her hand in his. "We do not know the cause of this illness," Perry said, her voice high and clear, sorrowful. "Only the people of the village were affected. I have stopped leaving the house, for fear of getting infected."

"But you are not a powerful sorceress, Perry."

"No," the woman smiled lightly. She touched her belly gently. "But she is."

"It seems that the more powerful the wizard, the longer it took them to become sick," Moro stated, looking at Gaius searchingly. "And the more terrible was the sickness. Do you remember Joall?"

Gaius nodded. "Of course. He was one of the most promising sorcerers I've ever met."

Perry and Moro exchanged foreboding looks. "He came to me three days after the outbreak," Moro said. "He said something was eating at him form the inside. He could barely say a word, and kept being… distracted by the smallest of sounds- like the others, searching for something lost. I gave him pain relievers but they did not seem to work. Two days after he was completely lost within himself. He couldn't even recognize me. All he did was mutter and cry, about that thing that he couldn't find, searching and sobbing from pain. He died two days later," He added slowly. Gaius felt his eyes moisten. "Suicide."

"Had anyone else-"

"Yes," Moro said, looking at the table. "Three others, not as powerful as him. It must be a symptom of the disease."

"And has anyone become sick since?"

Perry smiled ironically. "There are no more sorcerers in Jorks, Gaius."

They sat there in silence while the tea cooled.

"What do you think it could be, Gaius?" Moro asked, pleadingly. "I fear the weaker sorceress would become sicker. They will die," He whispered, glancing, fear struck, at his pregnant wife.

"It is a sickness that befalls only those that use magic," Gaius said, slowly. They sat, motionless, while he thought, gazing at the opposite wall in a strange, reminiscent way.

"I've… I might…" he hesitated, growing silent again.

"I've taught a boy, once," He said finally. "...Before I met your father, Perry. He was an orphan, and only later did I realize his parents were killed by the wizard Grae. During the great purge. Grae and his followers came to a small village in the north, and massacred everyone within it as a form of rebellion against Uther's army. Few survived, but Amaroe, then twenty, did. I took him under and taught him everything I knew- he had a brilliant mind, one of the brightest students I've ever taught." There was a pause. Moro and Perry looked at each other. Gaius had grown silent again, remembering. His face was very pale.

"So this Amaroe… he became a physician?" Moro asked.

"Hardly," Gaius chuckled. "Healing was beneath him. He wanted to invent. To create. And most of all, he wanted to get rid of sorcery."

"That's not completely inconceivable," Perry said. Moro had stiffened with anger. She massaged his hand. "If his family was killed."

Gaius didn't answer. He sighed, shaking his head.

"Amaroe believed magic contaminates the soul," he muttered finally. "That it is like a disease, turning those affected into evil, power-hungry murderers. He wanted nothing more then to rid the world of everything and everyone magical. He was very brilliant. He…" The old man sunk into a reverie again.

"He was the first and last I've ever gave up on. And I've never stopped regretting it since."

The two others glanced down. Moro hugged his wife to him, and she shivered.

"What's happened to him?"

"Oh, he grew on to work under the king," Gaius said. "Uther has for years tried to vanquish sorcery- and no one would stand in his way if this extinction was done without the lose of human life. I… Eventually I told Uther my thoughts in the matter, and I thought he'd listened to me. I thought he understood the terrible-" and then he froze again, glancing at Perry with evident guilt.

"But… isn't it better?" Moro asked, looking from Gaius, to his wife, and back. "To bind magic, rather then kill those who use it?"

"It is not better," Perry said. "I'm not a great witch, but I know my magic is part of who I am- I could not live without it."

Gaius didn't answer. He was staring at the wall, lost in his memories.

"But what does this have to do with Jorks?" Moro asked, standing up and beginning to pace the room.

"I've heard Amaroe was working somewhere in the mountains," Gaius looked out the window thoughtfully. "I never expected… for him to succeed."

"So what do we do?" Perry asked, holding on to her inflated stomach.

All of them looked at the child brewing within her.

"I suppose I must return to Camelot," Gaius said. "To speak with the king."

"But you just got here," Moro protested. "The journey takes two days, even without the storm heading this way-"

"If this disease is designed to bind the magic of wizards, then it has been successful," Gaius said forcefully. "There is no where in the kingdom Uther would like to purify more then Camelot. If this… _cure_, works- which I believe it does- that is where they would spread it."

"And from then to the entire kingdom," Perry said quietly.

"Yes," Gaius said. "I suggest you leave here, Moro. Tell everyone you can on your way out. I'm certain you have a few months before this spreads beyond the borders."

Moro and Perry looked at each other, pale faced. "Yes. Of course," Moro muttered. "But what about-"

"The sick?" Perry finished, looking out to the snow village just beyond the woods.

"I must speak to Uther," Gaius repeated, getting up. Moro stood to protest, but then stopped himself, looking down at his frozen wife. "I've taught Amaroe myself. If he's created a poison only for sorcerers, it was only after isolating sorcery itself."

"You mean… he's bottled magic?" Perry demanded, getting up as well. Then she sat back down, clutching her stomach.

"Not magic," Gaius shook his head, pulling up his rucksack. Moro closed his eyes. "No one can bottle magic. But he's found whatever it is that allows wizards to practice sorcery. He'd know how to stop the disease."

"Surely you can wait till morning," Moro said, staring as the old man turned to the door.

"No," Gaius sighed. He glanced at the young woman again, his guilt growing. _What have I done?_ "I fear I'm too late already."

**Comments? Anyone? Anyone?**

**A billion thanks to Persephone of Peridot for alerting me to a shameful mistake in the last update (a repeated section! After I've looked it over twice!!) and also to all the amazing people who took the time to review. You should know that the story has almost fifty pages at this point, and it's all thanks to you! (And the English project I'm trying to avoid. But still.) **


	3. Chapter 3

**Still Day Five:**

The apartment was very lonely without Gaius.

Merlin was standing at the doorway, exhausted. He's just spent the entire afternoon cleaning the stables, shining Arthur's armor, organizing the entire armory and cooking three different lunches, all of which were not to the prince' taste.

It seemed that the more bothered Arthur was, the more demandingly difficult he became.

Now the prince had gone to the training grounds, and Merlin allowed himself a short, well earned vacation. Fifteen minutes without anyone yelling at him. Heavens.

He came in, closing the door behind him. It was growing colder every day, the winter nearing its end. It would take hours to get the hearth going, and his fingers were turning blue.

Glancing deftly out the window to make sure no one was watching, Merlin turned his eyes to the fireplace, whispered a charm, and watched merry flames erupt over the coals. Sighing with contentment, he came closer to it, letting his flesh thaw.

There was one more week until the prince's twenty-third birthday. The entire city was a mess. Chariots of all shapes and sizes parked at the entrance of the castle, their owners comfortably situated in every single room in the castle, demanding the best food and service Camelot could provide. Just a few minutes ago some snotty nine year old demanded Merlin get her some fish he's never heard of, before he managed to slip away to the bustling streets, where overjoyed merchants raised their prices just enough to exploit the clueless foreigners. It was chaos.

And within all that chaos was Arthur, nodding, smiling, making small talk. It was a yearly ritual, and he was used to it- he knew all the young royals, some of which had studied with him in his childhood. And yet the prince seemed bothered. Merlin guessed it was the king's new exploits against sorcery.

He was worried about that, too. It has been a few days since Arthur told him about the cure. Merlin longed to tell Gaius about it, but his friend had only been gone three days, and would not return for a while longer. Merlin wasn't sure if he was imagining it, but he's seen more and more people in the streets, staring with lost gazes into thin air. He didn't know how the cure was spread, or if it already has been- but only yesterday a young boy was running down the street, crying, asking strangers for something he had lost. And before then, an old woman with croaked teeth has been screaming at confused bystanders that they have taken from her the thing she treasured most.

But Merlin wasn't affected, if it was, in fact, a _cure_ for sorcery. He didn't know if that was a good thing, or if it meant the beginning of a citywide epidemic spread by its king.

The sun was going down. Merlin got up, stretching. He still had to make dinner, get water for Arthur's bath, set fire to the hearth in the prince's chambers…

A sufficient amount.

He closed the hearth, guarding the flames until he returned later that evening. As he was maneuvering through the maze of carriages, he saw a young man standing between the wagons, clutching his chest, murmuring under his breath.

Merlin came up to him, hesitant.

"Hey," He said. The boy jumped, swirling to face him. He was roughly Merlin's age, pale and hunched forward. "Are you alright?"

The boy shook his head. "I… I lost something," he said. Merlin froze, unsure what to say next.

"Do you know where it is?" The boy continued, hopeful.

"I… what did you lose?" The boy's eyes turned back to the ground. He shivered from the cold.

"I can't remember," he muttered, and begun walking away, shaking his head. "I can't remember."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Day seven:**

"Sir Lancelot!"

Lancelot turned. Atora stood at the edge of the river, gazing onward toward the mountain where Camelot was perched.

"Is that it?" She asked, squinting through the clouds at the white castle.

It was the seventh day since Lancelot had begun to guide them, and the weather was growing colder as the winter neared its end. They had acquired a horse a few days back, which was now standing, restless, near the tree where Atora had decided to pause.

"It is," Lancelot nodded, leading Brown toward the river. Lora followed him with her gaze, packing the last remnants of their camp into a bag.

"It's beautiful," Atora muttered, gazing at the city with wonder. "I've heard stories of Camelot, but I've never-"

"It's even more beautiful from the inside," Lancelot promised, his mind flooded with memories of the rich training grounds and the cheerful city folk. "You would love the castle, my lady, I'm sure."

She didn't answer, her eyes fixated on the sight. Lancelot turned to Lora, already used to Atora's strange plunges into the lane of memory. Lora smiled at him, and closed the bag.

"We should leave, my lady," She told Atora, who shook herself back to reality, and remounted her steed.

"Lead the way, sir," She gave Lancelot a beautiful smile. He nodded, pulling Brown's reins and leading them toward the path.

"I…" Atora shut her eyes. "In Camelot. Are there… sorcerers?"

Lancelot blinked, surprised at the question. "Ah… not… really," he muttered, thinking of the one sorcerer he knew lived in the city for sure. "King Uther despises anything related to magic."

"I see," She said and stared at the dirt road intently. "But I mean- well, sorcery's outlawed in most places. Are there… some in… well, hiding?"

"I wouldn't know," He said. "I've only visited there once, for a few days."

The lady's head snapped up fiercely. "I thought you said you had friends there," She said, panic edging into her voice.

"…I do," He said, glancing at Lora in confusion. The girl's eyes were fixated on her horse's back, her hands clutching the reins too tightly. "I've stayed with them when I visited. They live in the king's court."

"And do they know if there are sorcerers in the city?"

"I don't know," He said, getting a little uncomfortable with the subject. Lancelot had known about Merlin's abilities for many months, and had managed to keep them a secret. He did not wish to betray his friend. With all her kindness, Atora was still the daughter of a prince, and her words now seemed too aggressive and demanding for reassurance. "I doubt they would. One of them is the king's personal physician."

"But you must know _something_," she called exasperatingly, her voice verging on hysteria. Lancelot did not look at her. She had been fine just moments ago. "Haven't you seen anyone? Heard anything? There must be rumors going about. There must be some in hiding, right? I mean, there always are some in hiding."

"I don't know, Atora," He repeated, more hostile then he'd intended. Atora paused, growing so silent he wondered if she was still breathing. Then she shut her eyes, and led the horse into a quick-paced trot into the solitude of the distant path.

Lora was still staring at her horse.

"You shouldn't be mad at her," She said after awhile, as Lancelot prodded Brown too forcefully, agitating her. Lancelot rubbed the horse's neck, trying to calm himself.

"I'm not mad," he told Lora, who was looking at him with her shy, uncertain eyes. Atora was out of ear shot, her white dress clear against the green vegetation. "I'm just… confused."

"She has a good reason," Lora muttered. Lancelot wanted to hit something.

"You keep saying that," He said, through he knew he shouldn't. "But I don't understand. It's as if one second she's fine, and the next…"

"I know," Lora said. "I- it confused me at first, too. But Lady Atora… she's…"

"What?"

Lora sighed. "I'm not… Well, it's not a secret, or anything." She paused, hesitant. "Everyone in Zorath knows about it. I imagine King Uther does too." She turned her eyes to Lancelot, who looked at her hopefully. "Promise you won't tell anyone. Atora does not like to talk about these matters."

"I won't," he swore, and Lora breathed deeply.

"Three years ago, Atora was kidnapped by a sorcerer." She said, quietly. Lancelot blinked. He hadn't thought of that.

"Oh," He said.

Lora smiled bitterly. "It doesn't show, does it? That is- she's fine most of the time. But she was in captivity for almost two year. A little over a year ago she was recovered from a cliff side near the border of king Uther's kingdom. Someone pushed her over the edge."

Lancelot did not answer. He gazed on toward Atora, who glanced back at them to see if they were still there.

"It was a fatal fall. But she was almost unharmed. It was a miracle. The men who found her described the wizard that was by her side. He used his magic to dangle her over the cliff edge, and as she was screaming with terror, he let her drop down to her death."

"That's…"

"She's never said a word about it. You can't tell her I told you," Lora pleaded, biting her lip. "Maybe I shouldn't have. She's never even told me his name. But whenever anyone mentions sorcery, you'd be sure Atora's secretly listening. I can't even imagine what goes through her mind."

Lancelot breathed deeply. He didn't know what to say, and regretted ever bringing up the subject. Atora had stopped her horse, and stood waiting for them at a crossroad.

"I won't say a word," he said at last, and gave Lora a frank look. "To anyone."

"Thank you," She said, seeming relieved. "And try to… understand. She acts tough, but she's still broken inside."

Lancelot nodded, thoughtful. Atora was looking at him as they came forward.

"I apologize," She said. Lancelot tried to protest, but she continued. "I was out of line, and I am sorry for it. Sorcery is… it always fascinated me," She smiled sheepishly. "I hope you'll forgive my rudeness, Sir Lancelot."

"Of course," He said. "And I am sorry I was not able to answer your questions."

Atora's eyes grew distant, and her smile became a tad fake. "It's fine," She said, gazing out at the city still visible between the tree trunks.

Lora looked at Lancelot apologetically. He gazed out at Atora as she pushed her horse back to the path. Images of her locked in a dark house somewhere with a sorcerer grinning at her hungrily filled his mind.

And then the sorcerer turned to Merlin.

Lancelot shuddered, and turned away.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Gwen was busy.

She was always busy. She made herself busy, doing laundry, washing floors, changing sheets. It was her getaway. Her something to think about. Anything to think about. Anything but Morgana. And the fact that her beloved mistress had not seen her chambers in over a month now.

Gwen pulled up a sheet in a presently vacant room, trying to judge how dirty it was. There didn't seem to be enough clean sheet for the amount of guests that were coming.

Gwen wasn't sure if Morgana was truly kidnapped, or if she had left of her own accord. She had seen Morgana these past few months, had noticed her growing anxiety over the king's many faults and prejudices. And she couldn't imagine the valiant woman being locked somewhere, helpless. Morgana was never a damsel in distress. She would have managed to make contact with them by now, if she'd wanted.

And yet…

Apart from that, there was the Prince's birthday celebrations to worry about. The actual birthday was five days away, but all the guests had already begun arriving. There were so many of them, all in such a short period of time. All the rooms in the entire castle were taken- all of them- and the knights who normally slept in the castle were ordered to sleep huddled together at inns and motels for the next five days. But that was alright. Gwen didn't mind all the extra work. It put her mind off of things, for one thing, and it also gave her something to pride herself in. Gwen loved to be a servant- she was good at it, and in the short time she's been serving in Camelot she's had the honor to serve the Lady Morgana, and become one of the most respected servants in the entire city. But apart from all that… well, there was something oddly therapeutic about organizing flowers.

"Gwen?"

She looked back. There was Arthur, gazing at her hesitantly. She felt her blood swarm up to her cheeks, and turned, hiding her face in the blossoms she was currently tending. The one thing of which she was not grateful about Arthur's turning twenty-three was the sudden availability he now had, among the royal women of the five kingdoms. There were eleven princesses, and seventeen cousins to those princesses, and twenty four other, less important women of royal blood, and then a hundred-some servants, such as herself, each of whom could be very beautiful and perhaps a lot more funny and interesting then she was.

Prince Arthur would be well to fall in love with one of them. It would be good for the kingdom. It would bring his crowning ever more close, and his father's tyranny to a finale, bloodless end. Innocents' deaths such as her father's would not occur under Prince Arthur's rule, of that she was certain. It would be fine for him to marry, excellent, brilliant.

She just didn't know if she could bear see him love someone else.

"Yes, Sire?" She asked, suddenly thinking of the old, rugged dress she's chosen to wear this morning. "How can I be of assistance?"

"Well… Merlin's late again," Arthur said distractedly. "That is, he never showed up."

_That's odd_, Gwen thought. She was certain Merlin was, for once, on time- she hasn't seen him running madly to the kitchen since yesterday.

"I'm sure he's fine," She said, smiling at Arthur. "Gaius is gone. Maybe he's over slept."

"Ah," Arthur shuffled his feet in a very non-princely fashion. "Yes. Right."

"I could get you your breakfast," Gwen offered, looking up from the roses. "If you want."

He looked at her, his eyes longing. She couldn't bear them. A rose's thorn cut into her skin, and she strained not to call out.

"That' all right," He said, finally, after a long pause. "I'm not very hungry, anyway."

"Of course, sire. Would you like me to fetch someone to help with your armor?"

"Yes," he muttered, still staring at her, sidetracked. She frowned at him with confusion. He shook himself out of the trance. "That is- Yes, please. Someone adequate, if that's at all possible."

_That's more like it,_ she thought, smiling to herself. "Right away, my lord."

He turned, leaving the room. "Oh," Hand on the door he paused, glancing in her direction. "And if you find Merlin, tell him I'll have him executed?"

Straining not to laugh she grinned. "Of course, sire," He looked at her, smirking. They stood there for a moment.

"Well, I'll be going, then," She said, realizing that organizing and reorganizing the vase was getting ridiculously suspicious. She hid her hand behind her back, moving toward the doorway, blocked by Arthur. "Have a nice day, sire."

"Yes," He muttered, not letting her through. Blinking her confusion, she leaned and passed underneath his arm. The smell of his skin filled her nose, making her tremble. "I- sorry!" He called after her. She turned a corner, leaned on the wall, and laughed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The girl's name was Norane.

She was not twelve, but sixteen, with long light hair and gray eyes that in the sun turned blue.

She had never seen the sun before.

It was a glorious sight. The brightness of day made her eyes hurt, but she couldn't bear to close them. For years Amaroe promised he would let her see the sun. But he never did.

Amaroe.

He was the image she saw when she closed her eyes. He was the ghost that haunted the shadows of her mind. He was her nightmares and her dreams.

And she would kill him.

She's spent years feeling hollow, empty, abandoned and alone- but her magic has always been there to comfort. Norane wasn't a powerful witch. That was why she could never escape. That was why she hadn't gone mad yet. She wasn't powerful enough.

Amaroe would die for taking away her magic- her only friend in the dark dungeons that were her home.

Magic was the one thing she had always known was there. Her greatest rebellion against the experiments, the tests, the unending injections- was the thought that he would never succeed. He wanted to take it away, but he couldn't.

Only he could.

And he did.

And he will pay.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Merlin woke up to the sounds of screaming children in the street.

It was and odd, unfamiliar music. Merlin always woke up with the first birds- not by his own choice, obviously, but to rush to the woods and pick the night-flowers for Gaius's many potions and remedies. At those times the city was a twilight of sleeping farmers and merchants, and the only sound heard through the morning fog was the drizzling of the ending rain.

But now the sun was half way into the winter sky, her rays sipping into his bedroom and vaporizing his dreams.

It must be midday.

Merlin jumped up, cursing. It _was_ midday- He'd slept through the entire morning. He hadn't done that since infancy- even in Ealdor he was one of the first to wake, when neither moon nor sun reigned in the sky and the darkness was only just dyeing. He pulled off his covers and placed his feet firmly on the ground, excuses already streaming through his head as rather unconvincing explanation to the prince of his tardiness-

It felt like an explosion in his head. He dropped back to the bed, blinking fast against the blackness conquering his sight. The children's laughter died down and a war erupted in his skull, bomb after bomb barraging his temples, forcing his mind to submission. For a moment he sat, paralyzed, hands clutching at his head painfully, trying to make the explosions stop.

But it was no use. His head was a battleground. And it refused to cease-fire.

He had to get out of bed. Certainly it would pass. He couldn't call a sick day so close to Arthur's birthday- it would cost him his head, never mind his job. Not that his head was too dear and cherished at the moment.

Trying not to move his neck, eyes concentrating on the floor, he got up. His feet wobbled, but it didn't matter. Once Gaius was back- in just over a week, he'd promised- he'd give him some remedy. Though the pain would surely pass by then- a headache was no reason to-

He'd lost something.

Something important.

He stood there for a while, trying to think through the repetitive strikes against the inside of his skull. He couldn't remember what he'd lost. Must not be too important. He had more important things to think about, anyway. Like what time it was. And how the hell he could explain to the heir of the kingdom why he didn't get his breakfast this morning.

He started changing as quickly as he could, straining not to think about the sudden, unpredictable pain ringing in his ears every few moments. On his way out the door he paused, biting his lip. Then he turned back, rummaging through Gaius's frighteningly organized cabinets for something to relive his pain.

He found a small bottle with a yellow elixir within. He'd helped make it himself. It was nothing strong, or rare, or dangerous. Opening the lid he drank a few drops. He waited a moment, uncertain. The pain vanished.

"Thank you, Gaius," he said to the empty room, tucked the bottle to his side, and turned back to the door.

Hand on the doorknob, his head snapped back to the silent house.

He'd lost something.

Something important.

Shaking his head, he turned the knob. Never mind that. He was late as it was.

A gentle, repetitive throbbing began in his head once again.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Arthur hadn't realized exactly how terrible a servant Merlin truly was.

It was a wonder he hadn't replaced him months ago. Orano, the stable boy Gwen volunteered to assist him, was a hundred times better. He was quite, compliable, great with the armor and the horses. He did everything Arthur asked, without the sarcastic grunts Merlin would mutter under his breath. It was not even time for supper, and already Arthur's chambers were spotless and warm, ready to be slept in.

"Thank you, Orano," Arthur said, accepting the boy's assistance in taking off his armor. "How long do you think dinner would be?"

"It is ready, sire," The boy said. Arthur smiled to himself. That's better.

"Excellent. Bring it, then."

Silently, the plate was brought to the table, along with all the proper silverware placed in its proper place. Walking back respectively, the boy withdrew to the wall, standing motionless, waiting for his next orders.

Arthur sat in front of his salmon, picking up the fork. It was a fish fork, one of those he was supposed to use for eating fish- only he never did, since the meat fork was just as good, and fit better in his large hands. There was no meat fork, however.

Hmm.

"It appears my father has called forth the entire continent for my birthday," He told Orano, trying to cut a slice off of the dish. "I don't know if there are enough rooms in all of Camelot- they're already putting up tents outside. I've told him its unnecessary, but he says that it's diplomacy, and that we should not offend anyone by not inviting them." He paused. Merlin would have said something about _him_ not being invited, a mere servant, which would have led to some unnecessary yet entertaining argument over the rights of servants vs. the rights of lords.

"King Uther is very wise, sire," Orano said.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Merlin was standing, motionless, over a pile of herbs.

There was a knife in his hands, and he was just about to slice the colorful herbs and add them to the bubbling brew he's sat on the fire.

None of Gaius's potions worked. The pain in his head grew and spread, and now his entire body seared, so that he could hardly think of anything but. On the table before him was an open recipe book. He was trying to prepare a pain reliever. Or some sort of poison to end his agony. Once he's done that, he could go and help Arthur tie his shoes. He was going to be yelled at, anyway.

Now the only question was- how much was a _tad_ of basil?

Shrugging to himself, he started cutting expertly. The leaves were a few days old, dried and grayish, but it was the best he had. He needed to get rid of the blinding pain. Arthur would kill him for having left him alone for an entire day with so many guests judging the prince's every move. But he couldn't be helpful- or even attempt to be helpful- if he could barely open his eyes in the sun.

He brushed the herbs into the bowl, pulling out some red dotted leaves, cutting them into small squares as indicated in the book. He was getting better at slicing. When he first came to Camelot, he kept cutting his own fingers. Now-

He'd lost something.

Merlin paused, staring intently at the far wall.

He could feel it in his very bones. Something was missing. Something was gone.

Suddenly, the pain in his head increased tenfold, spreading to his chest. It was as if a hole has opened up right inside his ribcage, dark and torturous, sucking Merlin's flesh around it. Whatever was missing used to be there. But it wasn't there anymore.

Merlin gasped with pain, his hands clutching over the knife. He couldn't feel the blade cut into the inside of his palm. All he could think about was the gaping wound inside him, and whatever had once been there.

Where was it?

Who took it?

Panting he turned to the orderly room. His eyes darted wildly from cabinet to cabinet, searching and hunting for the thing that was gone.

Blood dripped from his hand as he stumbled toward Gaius's desk, and began opening drawers violently.

He's lost something.

Something important.

His head snapped to the left, as someone run down the street. Every step was an earthquake in his head. He jumped as a street cat meowed, swirled chaotically back to the sound of the merchants closing up their shops.

He's lost something.

Merlin turned to the cabinets, looking into every bottle on the long shelves, and then throwing them angrily at the floor. They shuttered, spreading their contents on the stone tiles.

Something important.

**Sorry for the lateness!**

**I usually update once a week... But yesterday I just collapsed on my bed and sunk into unconsciousness. I also apologize for the length... I thought about cutting it in the middle, but I like it better this way. **

**Thoughts? Criticism?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Cured**

**_By TheAlmightySun_**

**Chapter Five**

_**Wait! Don't read yet. It seems that I have left out a very important section by accident in chapter three. In order for this to make chronological sense, I have to inculde it! So... please go to the third chapter, last section. It's a Gaius section. Read it BEFORE this chapter! It took place a few days before chapter five.**_

**_(In a week or so I'll take this message off. As for now... ENJOY!)_**

_____

Lightning stroke.

Gaius stared out at the pelting rain, the dark cloud making the morning sky black. He had been riding for days, and now stood at the entrance of a large cave he happened about a few minutes ago, letting his exhausted horse rest.

_What have I done?_

Gaius remembered the day Amaroe came to him, with his brother and his niece. He was a young twenty-year-old man, broken and mourning the death of everyone he ever knew. He came to Camelot because he had no other place to go. He came to Camelot because it was his last choice beside death.

It was the time of the purge. Sorcerers had been prosecuted under Uther's cruel hand for almost four years, and Amaroe's family was only a small notch in the long lists of innocent casualties.

Gaius had been Uther's physician for over a decade by that point. The king knew of his magic, but forgave it. Gaius has proven his loyalties too many times to be executed with the rest. He was the only wizard in Camelot who still breathed.

He couldn't bear it.

Seeing his brothers fall dead, one after the other, the people with whom he shared the most basic, instinctive bond dying by the hundreds all over the kingdom- it was torturous. He has seen the great dragons fall, the magical beasts escaping to the deep, dangerous forests. And he could do nothing to stop it.

He knew magic could be good, and he tried to explain that to Amaroe. He thought the boy understood. He thought he had realized only one sorcerer killed his family, not them all.

But he hadn't.

Gaius tried to save his brothers.

But he couldn't.

The rain ravaged the rocky ground, deafening and cruel.

And then there was Amaroe's brother. A wizard. The only wizard Gaius had known apart from himself.

A wolf howled in the distance as Gaius stared out of the cave, his tears mingling with the rain.

He couldn't save him.

And that was how Perry's father died.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

**Day eight:**

"What say you, my lord?" Amaroe asked, smiling his wicked smile.

Uther gazed at the fifteen people standing before him, stone faced. They were all pale, quivering, muttering under their breathe. Among them stood the young girl, the first successful test run. She stood silent, her arms once again tied before her. On her left stood an old woman, moving her gaze this way and that as if hearing some loud noise. To her right was a boy, maybe six, tears streaming down his too-white face as he stared with fearful admiration at the armored knights guarding the prisoners.

"My lord," The old woman said suddenly, stepping forward. "What am I here for? I have done no wrong," she pleaded. Uther ignored her, studying the shivering lot.

"I was not aware of so many sorcerers in Camelot," The king said slowly. His son stood next to the window, unable to take his eye of the sick convicts, or look them in the eye. "Though not all of them possess the symptoms you predicted, Amaroe. That one seems normal enough," He pointed at a man of thirty-some years, standing rigid and strong between the quivering others.

"That is because I am no sorcerer, my lord," He said loudly, eyeing Amaroe with hate. "Your servant has made a mistake. I hate magic. I spit on it." He spat on the old man next to him, who was too busy muttering to notice. The king turned his icy gaze to Amaroe.

"He might not have realized his abilities, my lord," Amaroe said. "But I assure you. I am not mistaken."

Uther nodded. "Take them to the dungeons." The guards raised their spears, leading the fifteen sorcerers out.

"Wait, father," Arthur said, as they were piling out. "I thought the point of this… cure, was to avoid executions."

"Of course, " Uther nodded, signaling to the rest of the men to leave. Amaroe left with them. "But they might still be dangerous. You heard that last one."

"I did," Arthur said, coming up to his father's throne, where the king now sat, picking up the latest lists of taxes. "He hadn't even known he was a sorcerer. We can't condemn a man for something he didn't do."

"Didn't do yet," The king corrected. "You know as well as I, Arthur, that sorcery is an evil craft that must be abolished." He looked at his son's fervent face seriously. "In a matter of weeks, if they have shown no signs of magic, we shall release them. But before then, we must rid the city of the abomination of magic once and for all."

"But-"

"Have you forgotten that a sorceress has kidnapped Morgana?" Uther said, angry. "And that that same sorceress has deluded you into trying to overthrow your own father?"

Arthur paused, grounding his teeth. "No. I have not."

"Good," Uther said, turning back to the taxes. "Don't."

Arthur stood there for a moment more, and then turned sharply, leaving the room. Orano followed faithfully, holding his sword.

"Will my lord like his dinner now?" he asked, as they were entering the prince's chambers. Arthur wanted to hit him.

"No," He said instead, pulling off his formal robes. "I want you to go get Gwen. Tell her I need to see her. Now."

"Of course, sire," The boy said, bowed, and left the room.

"You don't need to bow!" Arthur called after him, suddenly furious. "I'm not gonna bite!"

But Orano was gone.

Breathing hard, Arthur turned to the desk, leaning his forehead on the cold stone, trying to cool off. The room was boiling hot. Merlin wouldn't have turned the fire on until after Arthur's changed for bed. He wouldn't have even heated the water for the bath.

Pissed for no reason, Arthur turned back to the bed, and sat down. He was not missing Merlin. But he wanted to know where he'd gone. He'd expected him to pop up with some silly excuse by noon, at least. If Merlin was anything- and he wasn't much- he was trustworthy enough that Arthur never feared telling him about his father. He wanted to tell him about the sorcerers. The water has been 'cured' for almost a week, and no new sorcerers have arrived since days before. He wanted to tell him that Mrogana hadn't turned up, like he'd first hoped, thinking perhaps her captor has been effected by the cure and she managed to escape. He wanted to tell him-

"You called, sire?" Gwen asked, standing silently at the doorway.

"I did," He said, getting up. "Come in."

She did, closing the door behind her. "Orano went to get your food," She said, turning to him.

"Yes, good," He said distractedly. "Where's… ah, Merlin?"

Gwen blinked. "He isn't back yet?"

"No," Arthur said, confused. "I thought you went to talk to him yesterday."

"I did, he said he was sick," She muttered. Arthur smiled ironically.

"Of course he's sick. My birthday's in less then four days, my father's invited the entire world, and my manservant is sick. He's doing this on purpose," He turned, pacing, away from her. "I should have known he'd use Gaius's absence to pull something like this."

When he turned back, Gwen was smiling. "I doubt it's anything like that, Arthur. I mean sire. I meant sire," She finished pathetically, blushing. Arthur whirled back around, fighting against his pounding heart.

"No, that sound like Merlin. I honestly don't know why I let him stay. Orano is a much better servant."

"I think you have enough servants, Arthur," Gwen said, and did not correct herself. He paused by the window. Camelot was alight with glowing fires.

"Did he look sick?" He asked finally.

"I couldn't tell," She said, stepping into the room, lighting a candle against the growing dark. "I mean, he had this odd look. I guess he did."

"Hmm." Arthur turned back to her. "Well, ask him to get over whatever it is. I'm sure Gaius left enough remedies for winter flu. I cannot stand a minute longer with that other one."

"You just said Orano was better then Merlin," Gwen reminded, still smiling.

"I lied. He's… too… quite," Arthur muttered. Gwen did her best to hide her laughter. "Tell Merlin if he doesn't get over here now, I'm coming there to get him."

"Right, sire," Gwen nodded, just as Orano came in with the dinner plate. "I'll let him know." She headed for the door, her dress swirling around her feet noiselessly.

"Gwen?"

"Yes, Sire?"

"Thanks."

"Yes, Sire."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Atora?"

She blinked at him in surprise, pushing locks of hair out of her face. "Did you say something, Sir Lancelot?"

He chuckled. "Would you like a cup of tea?"

"That would be lovely, thank you," She said, and smiled at him. Lancelot handed her a cup, and then gave one to Lora.

"Shouldn't we be on our way?" Atora asked.

"It's still dark, my lady," Lora said, glancing at the vanishing moon. "And cold. We should leave once the sunrise has ended."

"But the prince's birthday is only four day away," Atora said, staring into her tea. "We are being awfully rude. We should have been there days ago."

"Why haven't you left with your family, Atora?" Lancelot asked, seeping his own drink. The fire blazed between the three of them, warming up the cold morning air. "They're already there, I assume?"

"Yes," The girl said, breathing in the fumes of the hot water. "I don't know. I guess I wanted some solitude. In the castle I could not get a second to myself. It was a madhouse."

Lancelot smiled, giving Lora an amused look. She giggled. "But you'd be staying in a castle at Camelot, as well," he reminded. "One packed with royal guests and their servants."

Atora laughed. "Don't remind me. Sometimes I wish I could just live with the common folk for a while." She paused, again deep in thought. "I've done that once," she muttered into her cup. Lancelot and Lora exchanged worried glances. Lancelot had really come to like Atora, with all her strange ways, and her sadness made him sorry.

Shaking her self out of the reverie, Atora looked up, smiling. "But the city is only a day away, isn't it?"

"Yes," Lancelot nodded. "We should be there tomorrow afternoon."

Atora bit her lower lip, her eyes eager. "Well… what if we walk the night through?"

Lora, who liked horses as much as she liked drowning, gave her mistress a pleading look. Atora didn't notice, gazing at the surprised Lancelot hopefully.

"Ah… we could," He said, uncertain, eyeing the miserable Lora hesitantly. "But- why would we-"

"I just… want to see the city," The lady said, not meeting his gaze. Lancelot was about to retort when the sound of hooves came from the path behind them.

He jumped up, pulling up his sword. The two women glanced at each other, and Atora got to her feet, reaching toward her own rucksack, clutching her fragile hands over the hilt of a knife.

"Who's there?" Lancelot demanded. The steps paused, and then continued. Someone was making their way on horse back toward them, through the thicket of the woods.

Lancelot squinted against the morning fog. Could it be?

"…Gaius?" he asked, lowering his weapon. "Is that…"

As the old man's features came into focus, Lancelot's face erupted into a joyous grin. "What are you _doing_ here?!"

Gaius gaped at him in surprise. "Lancelot?"

Atora let go of the knife, coming forward. "You know each other?" She asked, her beautiful eyes wide.

"I… that's the friend I've been talking about," Lancelot said, going toward Gaius and coming to a stop near his horse. His old friend seemed haggard, as if he'd been journeying for many days. "I thought you'd be in Camelot, Gaius, for the celebrations," Lancelot asked, and shook the physician's hand warmly.

"I was visiting a friend," Gaius said, getting off his horse and pulling Lancelot into a hug. "Are you here for Arthur's birthday?"

The two girls came toward them, Atora's gaze like a curious child's.

"I was actually on my way to visit you," Lancelot said. Then he remembered the two women by his side. "I'm sorry. Gaius, this is Atora, King Boro's niece, and her maid, Lora." The two smiled politely, and Gaius bowed his head. "This is Gaius, King Uther's personal physician and unofficial advisor."

"Nice to meet you, Gaius," Atora said, her voice clear and high. Gaius nodded. "I assume you're heading to the city, as well?"

"Indeed, my lady," the old man said, glancing at his horse again. "I have news for the king. Urgent news. I actually must be going-"

"Of course," the lady said. "But we are heading toward the castle as well. Would you like to join us?"

Gaius hesitated, glancing behind them at the fire, and the half folded tent. "I… the king…" Atora smiled at him. "Of course," he said, remounting his horse. He gave Lancelot a joking smile as the younger man rushed to the tent, hurrying to pack it. Atora nodded at the old man, helping Lora put out the fire. In a matter of minute they were packed and ready, and Lancelot jumped onto Brown's back, a grin splattered across his happy face.

The girls prodded their horses forward, leaving Gaius and Lancelot behind.

"You seem worried, Gaius," Lancelot muttered under his breath, as they followed the girls down the path. "Is something the matter?"

"I'm not sure yet," Gaius replied softly. "It might be nothing."

Lancelot didn't answer. He doubted it was nothing. Gaius's eyes were troubled, and the wise man was unlikely to agonize over trivialities.

"Is something the matter with the prince? Or Merlin?" _Or Gwen?_

"I hope not," Gaius said. Lora turned and waved them on, chasing after Atora, who had managed to double their pace.

"What do you mean?" Lancelot asked, growing anxious. The idea of any of his friends being hurt made his heart pound. There he was, wondering aimlessly in the forests, where somewhere people were actually in trouble.

Gaius rubbed his horse's neck thoughtfully.

"I'm not exactly sure."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Gwen was walking quickly between the carriages.

It was dark. She was wearing a long sleeved green dress, but that didn't stop the blood from freezing in her vines. She was half running toward Gaius's lodgings, clutching her hands over her body, conserving warmth.

She hadn't seen Merlin since the morning of yesterday.

I wasn't like him. Merlin had never been much for punctuality, but he hadn't taken a sick day since she'd met him. He hadn't seemed sick the last time she saw him, even though he said he was. Just a little over worked. He'd joked about the sister of one of the visiting kings, flirting blatantly with Uther, while leaning tiredly on the door frame.

Jumping lightly in place and rubbing her hands together, she went to the backdoor, which led straight into the kitchen where hopefully the stove would be burning.

"Merlin!" She called loudly, banging on the door. "It's Gwen!"

It was dark inside, she could tell, peeking through the window. Soft sounds of things being moved could be heard from within the house. At least he wasn't too sick to make a racket.

"Merlin!" she raised her voice. There was no answer.

Rolling her eyes, she opened the door, gasping softly at the coolness of the iron knob. There was no light anywhere, and the hearth was stone cold.

Gwen shuffled slowly into the darkness, wishing she'd brought a candle or something to see by. "Merlin? Are you here?"

Soft muttered emanated from a dark corner to her left. Gwen shivered, frowning, and stepped forward. Her feet pressed onto open books and papers thrown onto the floor. Gaius's chambers, a mess?

"Merlin, are you- what…" She tried not to step over anything, making her way toward the source of the muttering. He was sitting on the bare floor in the corner, breathing in loud, strained gasps. She came toward him, trying to see his face through the black shadows.

"_Where is it…? …Gone. Lost… Where… Took it? ….Where did… lost…_"

"Merlin?"

His hands were pressed tightly against his temples, nails digging into the abused skin. His eye were sealed shut, his entire body shaking with… pain.

"Hey," She said softly, leaning down beside him. She tried to separate his arms from his head. "Stop. You'll hurt yourself…" his hand wouldn't budge. There was something sticky, wet, on his left palm. A knife was thrown unceremoniously on the floor by his side.

"Merlin. Talk to me." He ignored her, muttering on. She could barely understand what he said. "What have you lost?" She whispered, looking around the chaotic room. Everything was on the floor, shuttered or ripped. "Maybe I could help you find-"

Suddenly, Merlin's blind gaze landed on her, desperate. His hands seized her shoulder vehemently, and she gasped with pain.

"Where is it?" he hissed loudly.

"Where's… what?"

"Where _is _it?"

Gwen swallowed, suddenly afraid. "Merlin, I don't…. what are you talking about?"

"It's gone!" Merlin said, letting go of her and jumping to his feet. "Lost. I've lost it."

She pulled herself to her feet. "What are you-"

Merlin's head snapped to the left, his eyes searching the blackness. Gwen gaped as he swiriled in the other direction, groping wildly for something in the dark.

"…Merlin?" Her voice was a whisper.

He ignored her. His head snapped this way and that, as if harassed by invisible ghosts.

"Maybe you should just… sit d-"

"_Where is it?_"

She stopped again, stepping back. Merlin stared at her again, the agony in his breathe growing with every inhalation. "_Who took it?"_

"I don't know, she said, but she didn't expect him to listen. "I- sit. Merlin gazed at her despairingly, and she forced him down onto a still"-standing chair. "Sit. Don't move."

Keeping her eyes on him, she backed up toward the door, making sure he remained where she placed him. She had to get help. There had to be some other physician in the castle, with Gaius gone, who could… fix… things.  
As she was opening the back door, Merlin's head snapped to face her.

"They had no right to take it," He said, and his voice broke.

Gwen got out, bracing herself against the cold.

"They had no right to take it!"

_______________

**Sorry for the confusion.**

**Anyway. What did you think?**


	5. Chapter 5

**Cured**

**_By TheAlmightySun_**

**Chapter six**

_____

"Gwen? What's wrong?"

She stood motionlessly at the door, her face frozen and pale.

Arthur got up from the bed, his chest bare. Gwen took a few weak steps inside, and her face was flooded by the fire's light. She stared at him, playing with her fingers.

"I- it's Merlin," She muttered. Arthur looked out at the moon. It was late evening. "I've gone to tell him- I-" She trailed off, mystified, and then straightened her gaze to his, suddenly fierce. "Those people in the dungeons." Arthur returned her intense gaze, perplexed. "What's wrong with them?"

"Gwen, what are you talking about?"

"Why are they so…" She broke off, moving her hands expressively. "…Unsettled?"

"I… they're sorcerers," Arthur said elusively, moving to take a shirt from the closet. "What's going on?"

She stared at him, biting her lower lip.

"Gwen, if you don't tell me I'll just go down there myself."

"I don't know," she said at last, lowering her gaze. "It's… I mean, Merlin… he's…"

She stopped, raising her gaze to Arthur helplessly.

Arthur looked searchingly into her anxious eyes, and then sighed dramatically. "Alright already," he muttered, pulling on a pair of shoes. "Come-on."

She followed him down the hall, their steps loud on the stone floor. "When's Gaius coming back?" He asked, trying to lighten her tight mood.

"He should be delayed," Gwen said. "There's a terrible storm up north."

Arthur hummed, nodding at the guards as they left the castle. They strode through the strangely quite court, deserted under the moon's thin glow. It was cold, and dark, so much so that Arthur had to pause at the beginning of the street in search of Gaius's quarters.

He followed Gwen, who did not stop.

"Why's the door locked?" He asked once they've arrived, pushing at the handle.

"I don't know. It's never locked."

"So how did you-"

"I came in through the back door."

"Right. Where is it?" Arthur's began to frown as Gwen moved toward the overthrown trashcans behind the lodging.

"Are you coming, Sire?" She asked, making her way through the rooting, frozen food spilling onto the ground, gathering her skirts.

"Yeah," he sighed. "'Course I am."

The door creaked as they came in. Gwen led forward, lighting a candle she had hidden in her gown's pocket.

"Why isn't the fire on?" Arthur asked, going toward the hearth. He picked the coals up in his hand, thinking of his room's warm flame. The coals were icy. Gwen proceeded to light the other candles around the room, trying not to look at the rest of the lodgings.

"It's freezing," She muttered, as the room emerged out of the shadows. Arthur looked around, his scowl growing deeper. Gaius's studies, notes, and books have always been spread chaotically about, on tables and chairs, under thing and on top of them. The sight of books open one on top of the other, bookmarked by pages full of carefully lined scribbles and complicated diagrams, and strange objects (from the peculiar magnifying glasses to the shelved bottles filled with eccentrically colorful brewing) scattered all around have become a regular expectation.

But it was worse then chaos now. It was turmoil. Things thrown unceremoniously on the floor, papers crunched and torn everywhere. There was broken glass on the ground, and something sticky and red that seemed a little too familiar to the warrior in him for comfort. Arthur leaned to examine it, maneuvering carefully between the fallen furniture. It was blood.

"I see why Gaius doesn't leave often," He muttered, rising to his feet.

Gwen wasn't listening.

"He's here."

Arthur moved his gaze away from the bedlam, following Gwen's candle into Merlin's room. There was an odd, stuffy smell inside, and Gwen reached over to open the windows. Arthur took the candle from her, lighting the other, unlit candlesticks on the window ledge.

"Merlin?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Merlin?

_Dark. So dark. Like a growing wound deep under his skin, growing, tearing at his flesh and consuming everything around. An expanding hole in his chest, sucking out the air from his lungs and the blood from his veins, so that he could think of nothing but what was no longer there._

_He's lost something. Yes? Yes. Something important. Something… crucial. _

_It was gone. _

_It was lost. _

_And now he was empty inside. So empty. So cold and shallow and vacant. It has always been there and now it was gone and he didn't… he didn't know… what…_

Merlin.

_What _was_ it? _Where_ was it? Who took it? Why?_

Merlin, what's wrong?

_How could they take it? How could they take it when it wasn't theirs to take?_

Merlin!

_Black. Pitch black within him, the lack of whatever used to be there driving him mad. The void inside him was growing, devouring his flesh, draining his blood, annihilating his very soul. Every painful gulp of air was hollow and poisonous, and he couldn't breath, or think, or anything. …Where was it? _

Merlin…?

_Where is it?_

"Merlin!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

His dark haired servant was on the bed, staring straight.

"Come on, Merlin. What's wrong?" Arthur asked, exasperated, coming toward the bed, flooding Merlin's face with the candle's light.

Arthur froze.

"You see?" Gwen muttered. "It's… Arthur? What is it?"

Merlin was just like the others, only, somehow, worse. Arthur moved the candle over his friend's pale, downcast face, noting the deep dark circles under his eyes. He was staring blindly just beyond Arthur, his once jovial blue eyes darker, filled with loss.

"Merlin, what are you…" He got on his knees, looking searchingly for whatever was wrong. "Hold this," he told Gwen, handing her the candle. "Now, Merlin, I need you to-"

Suddenly, Merlin's eyes focused, staring fixatedly into Arthur's.

Arthur pulled back, staggered. Merlin gazed at him for a second more, then turned his eyes to the left, concentrating on the dirty boot leaning lonely on the far wall.

"Wait," Arthur said, leaning forward again. "Hey! Look at me," he stared at Merlin's forlorn, absent face, trying to will his friend back from where ever it was he'd gone. Merlin wouldn't meet his gaze, staring at some random creek in the crumpled blanket, and then at the left corner of the desk. Gwen was quivering behind him, unnerved and freezing.

"How long has he been like this?" Arthur asked, thinking fast. All the sorcerers had gotten sick days ago. And they weren't like this- they muttered, and searched, and shook with pain and fear. But the mess- as if someone had looked through everything in a desperate struggle to locate something that had been lost…

But Merlin wasn't a sorcerer.

That was ridiculous.

"He was fine two days ago," Gwen said, coming closer. "Arthur…"

"Hmm?"

"They've been rumors of a… some sort of… potion being poured into the water well."

Arthur glanced at her guiltily.

"Yeah," he said. "My father is trying out new ways to get rid of sorcery."

"And those are the sick people-"

"Yes."

Gwen nodded, and sat on the bed by Merlin's side. He glanced at her momentarily, and then turned his gaze to the floor. Arthur could hear the strain in every breath he took. Merlin's hands were clutched around his chest, and from the left blood drizzled onto the blanket.

"We have to warn everyone," Gwen muttered. Arthur turned his eyes from Merlin's dark face to her decisive one.

"What?"

"If there's poison in the water, people have to know," She said vehemently, giving him an almost angry glare. "You can't condemn the entire city to death. Or, well, this." She said, pointing at Merlin. Arthur gaped at her.

"But… the cure is meant only for sorcerers."

"I think it's clear that it has somehow become damaging to all people, regardless of their magic," Gwen said, rolling her eyes. Arthur looked at Merlin with new eyes. Of course. The cure had been damaged somehow. Maybe this was Amaroe's plan from the start. He did seem too jovial when his poison was poured into the well…

"We must tell my father," He said, getting up. "Gwen… stay here, alright? Watch him until Gaius returns. When is that, by the way?"

"A few days, I hope," she said, standing up as well. Arthur nodded, turning to the door.

"Sire!"

He turned. She stood, candle in hand, and breathed.

"Don't… I mean, there's no need to use Merlin's name."

He nodded, and left, out into the cold night.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"For the first time, my city is magic free," Uther said, staring out the window at the starry sky above.

"Yes, my lord," Amaroe muttered, grinning. "There shall be no more evil sorcery in the streets of Camelot."

"We could send those we've caught to-"

"I've been hoping, sire, to take them with me on my return to the mountains?"

Uther turned to the man, eyebrows raised. "Whatever for?"

Amaroe cleared his throat. "I have some studies I wish to conduct. Regarding the cure. Before I can create more for other kingdoms."

"Of course, of course," Uther said, chuckling. "It will be no problem. When do you leave?"

"A day or two, sire. I doubt any other sorcerers would turn up at this point."

"Certainly they've all been affected by now," Uther agreed. "Everyone drinks after so many days."

"I've told you, sire- the most powerful become affected much later then the rest. But it has been over a week."

"I see," Uther said, nodding. "Well, you are of course welcome to stay for my son's birthday, if you like."

"I don't think so, sire," Amaroe reclined politely. "I'm not a man for company. I rather my solitude with my patients."

"Of course," Uther smiled, and came over to Amaroe, placing his hands on the man's shoulders. "You have done me a great deed, Amaroe," He said, and Amaroe's smile grew. "I will never forget it. Anything you wish for, is yours. Anything you ask will be given to-"

"Father!"

Arthur rushed through the doors in a run.

"You're making a habit of bursting in, son," Uther chuckled, moving toward his throne. "What might be the problem?"

Arthur stopped, breathless, next to Amaroe.

"The cure, father. It's… changed."

Uther raised in his chair, frowning. " 'Changed'?"

Amaroe glanced at Arthur suspiciously.

"Yes," the prince said, nodding. "It's affected a civilian. One that is not a sorcerer."

There was silence in the hall. The guards stationed at the doors glanced at each other, confused.

"Leave," Uther told them, and they did. The king turned to Amaroe. "What say you to this?"

"It's ludicrous, my lord," the man said certainly. "I've tested my formulas time and time again. There has never been anyone affected by them that did not practice magical craft."

"Well, you must have made a mistake, then, " Arthur said, growing angry. "I'm telling you, father, there is no way this man had ever used sorcery. I know him. But he's worse off then the others- we must warn the town people. We must confine the use to the well, and find another source for water, before-"

"Confine the well?" Uther demanded, protesting. "With the royal courts of all our neighbors visiting! Have you gone mad, Arthur?"

"They'd rather be thirsty then ill, father!"

Amaroe cut into the conversation, suddenly curious. "You said the symptoms were worse," He said to Arthur, who glared at him, disbelieving of his pointless questions. "How _much_ worse?"

"Worse," The prince told him, vexed. "He's staring at the wall."

"I see."

"And who might this man be?" Uther asked, his voice thundering in the empty hall.

"Does it matter?" Arthur demanded. "Forget the man. I'll find a way to help him later. But the people of Camelot need to be warned. They have to-"

"There is nothing wrong with my formulas, sire," Amaroe told Uther, disregarding Arthur's words. "I think your son is mistaken. His friend is either sick with some other illness, or a very, very powerful wizard."

"He's not a wizard. And he's not sick! And even if he were, we'd still have to warn the people," Arthur called, looking at his father unfalteringly. "They are frightened. They don't know if this illness is going to spread or not. They've seen the sick sorcerers stumbling, lost in the streets. We have to tell them what's going on. And we have to stop pouring the _cure_ to the wells. Before something goes wrong."

"I think guarding the people from sorcery is a little more important then guarding them from harmless water that can do them no harm," Amaroe said. Uther nodded his agreement.

"The sorcerers will be taken away, and the panic will subside," He told his son, appeasing. "And if ever more show up, they will be cured by the water."

"It's not a cure!" Arthur yelled, and Uther leaned back, his pacifying face turning serious and annoyed. "It's… it is poison! It's better to kill them then damn them to such a hellish existence. Some of them aren't even real sorcerers. They're healers. People who have done nothing wrong."

"Practicing sorcery is wrong," Uther said, threateningly. "Any form of magic is evil, and a person who uses it is turned evil by it. Both you and Morgana have expressed your feelings to me, and asked many a time for me to find a way not to kill them, and I did. What is it that you want?"

"But what about that infant?" Arthur demanded, trying vainly to control his anger. "She was- what, two? How can you believe a baby is an evil sorcerer?"

"If she possessed magic, she was evil," Amaroe said. "And she did possess it, otherwise she wouldn't have been affected by my cure."

"And that old man?" Arthur asked, ignoring Amaroe and staring pointedly at his father. "He was a sailor. He's been providing our fish for decades. He'd never even been suspected as a sorcerer. And now he's dead, killed himself- and for what? Your satisfaction that everyone who's… who… _do_ things you don't understand are gone-?!"

"You are young," Amaroe said, as the king sat, speechless. "You weren't around when wizards walked free. It was chaos. So much power in one man corrupts him. They've killed and destroyed village after village. They've killed my entire family."

Finally, Arthur turned to Amaroe. "I thought your family died after the purge."

"Yes."

"So it was after my father began killing them that they stroke back!"

All of a sudden, Amaroe's pale face turned a furious shade of red. "It does not matter when it happened! That craft of sorcery is stained with blood, and it must be erased if we are ever to live peacefully on this-"

"How could we live peacefully knowing we've murdered hundreds- thousands- for being born a certain way?"

"Sorcerers aren't born, fool," Amaroe hissed, his eyes shooting fire. "Each finds his own way to magic. They are greedy and power-hungry. They sell their souls for a little glory and-"

"How can a child sell his soul?!"

"Stop this!" Uther called finally, and the two men paused, Arthur's hand half way to his sword. The king glared at his son, enraged.

"_Prince_ Arthur," he told him, emphasizing the title. "I suggest you return to your chambers and think about your actions tonight. Amaroe is a great scientist who's done wonders for Camelot. And sorcerers- have you ever met a good sorcerer? No," he answered, before Arthur could. The prince kept his mouth shut, fuming. "I do not want to hear about this again. If you need to be reminded about the evil of magic, go by Morgana's chambers. I think that will resolve any issues you've got with my ways." Arthur did not respond, and, after giving Amaroe a look of pure hate, stormed out of the hall heatedly.

The king turned to Amaroe, who stood where he was, seething.

"I apologize for my son's actions," He said, and Amaroe nodded mutely. "He will be punished accordingly."

Amaroe took a big breath. "It's all right, my lord," He said, once again smiling his unnerving smile. "I am not offended. Young men are rush and impulsive. I cannot blame the prince for fearing for his friend."

Uther nodded, and sighed. "Sometimes I wonder what to do with him," he said, more to himself then Amaroe. "Arthur is so often…" He trailed off. Amaroe cleared his throat.

"My lord?"

"Yes, Amaroe?"

The man smiled. "I wish to take a look at your son's friend. If he is ill, and with your physician away, I might be able to assist him."

"Of course," Uther said, smiling with gratitude. "If it won't be too much of a bother."

"Not at all, sire," Amaroe said. "Not at all."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Arthur was not heading for his chambers.

Instead, he went to the stables, waking up Orano, who had returned to work there. "Fetch my horse," He said, and the boy, blinking with sleep, nodded. Arthur went over to Gaius's house, still furious.

"Gwen! Open the door," He called loudly, banging on the front entrance. The sound of keys being turned followed, and then the door creaked open, Gwen's worried eyes landing on him. "Sire-?"

Arthur burst in, shuffling through the many objects on the ground. "My father will not listen to reason," He said, trying to control his voice. "He refuses to stop pouring the _cure_ to the well. You have to warn the people yourself, Gwen."

She swallowed, biting her lips. "What about you?"

"I'm leaving," Arthur said. "I need to find Gaius. He's the only one my father would listen to. I can get to Jorks in just over a day on horse back, if he's not already on his way back-"

"My lord," Gwen shushed him, staring behind him to the street. Arthur turned.

"Hello," Amaroe said, smiling at them, two of his own guards at his sides.

"You followed me," Arthur muttered, disbelieving, and studied the two men. They were large, dark skinned, and didn't seem too intelligent based on the blank, glassy look in their eyes. Each had a weapon strapped to his belt.

"I did," Amaroe confirmed, nodding. "I was hoping to take a look at your friend."

Arthur sneered. "I think not," He said, moving to close the door. One of the men leaned forward, pushing at it from the other direction.

"It's not much of a request really," Amaroe said, entering through. Arthur reached for his sword. "I've asked you father, and he said it was fine."

"Arthur," Gwen muttered in his ears, fearful. Arthur followed Amaroe as the man walked through the cluttered room, gazing this way and that. Gwen had started a fire, and the room was alight. Amaroe's man followed him inside, glaring at Arthur threateningly.

"There's nothing for you to see," Arthur called after them, following in a brisk pace. He could not take all three, not without the danger of Gwen getting hurt. "My friend's fine. He's healed."

"Ah, excellent!" Amaroe said happily. "Let me congratulate him then." He was opening the door leading to Merlin's room. Arthur glanced at Gwen, who stared, horrified, as the small man entered.

Merlin was sitting in the far side of the bed, back to the wall. His hands clutched at his head and he moved back and forth in place, his face agonized. Amaroe came closer, touching his forehead with his bony, long fingered hand. Arthur gritted his teeth, but did not move forward.

"My god," Amaroe muttered to himself. Merlin wasn't looking at him. He stared forward, hissing with pain. "I've never seen such a reaction before."

"You were right, then," Arthur told him desperately. "He must be ill with something else."

"No," Amaroe shook his head, his smile growing and growing until it consumed his entire face. "He is a sorcerer. A powerful, powerful sorcerer. What a man could do with such power…" He trailed off, thoughtful. Then he turned to the guards. "Take him."

"Hey!" Arthur's sword was out before the men took one step. "I don't think so."

Amaroe glanced at him, and chuckled. "Oh really, _sire?_" he asked, staring at Arthur leeringly. "And what would you tell your father? You've killed his favorite scientist over a sorcerer that belongs to me, anyway?"

"Merlin does not belong to anyone," Arthur hissed, taking a step forward. "And he's not a sorcerer. My father would never believe he is."

"Is that so."

"Yes. Now leave, before I-"

"You what?"

Arthur took a calming breath. Gwen rushed over to Merlin's side, trying to get him to stop shaking.

"I'll kill you," Arthur muttered, gazing at Amaroe hatefully. "And if your men harm me after words, or my servants, they'd be executed for threatening the future king."

Amaroe paused, glaring at Arthur.

"Very well, _my lord_," He said finally, the smile returning to his lips. "Whatever you like."

Arthur did not pull back his sword, staring instead as Amaroe led the way out of the house. When the door was shut behind them, he turned back to Gwen.

"You can't leave," She said immediately. "They'll just come back tomorrow."

"I know," he said, sliding his sword back into the scabbard. "Don't worry. I'll stay."

"But what about your father?" She asked. Merlin's harsh breath filled the silence. "And the water?"

Arthur gazed at Merlin, thinking.

"We'll warn the people tomorrow. Go to the well in the morning and tell them not to drink from it," he said. "Once Amaroe is gone I'll go get Gaius. He'll help."

Gwen nodded, and bit her lower lip. They were both staring at the boy on the bed. His eyes were shut, and he was murmuring nonsense under his breath, head hidden behind his arms.

"What about Merlin?"

Arthur didn't answer, closing his eyes.

"I don't know," he said finally. "We'll think of something."

**Once again sorry for the lateness! (I say that a lot, don't I?) There was a huge finale in theater and I was some old lady in black and and... Well, sorry. Probably will happen again.**

**:-)**

**Thanks SO much to everyone who reviewed!!! I was astonished at the amount- You should ask my friends, I've been muttering on and on a about it for over a week. You're all the best!!!!!**

**Now enough with the exclamation marks.**

**Thoughts?**


	6. Chapter 6

**Cured**

**_By TheAlmightySun_**

**Chapter seven**

_____

"My god," Lora breathed, gaping at the gates of Camelot.

Lancelot urged Brown into a stop next to her. "It didn't look so large from the mountain, did it?" He noted, gazing at the familiar gates. Atora was already off her horse, gazing through the bars into the white city.

"I thought we'd never get here," She said, more to herself then anyone. Gaius waved at the guard in the watchtower, and they waved back, opening the beautiful doors.

"We should go in," the old man said, leading the way. "I think your father would be delighted to see you, Atora."

"You've met my father?" the girl asked, surprised.

"Once." Lancelot chuckled. As if there was a man in the kingdom Gaius had not encountered. "Many years ago."

Atora nodded. "I should go see him immediately, I suppose." She didn't seem too eager at the prospect. "We've taken longer then I expected."

Lancelot glanced at Gaius, who seemed troubled. "Are you going to the king?"

"I think I'll go home first," The old man said quietly. Lancelot noticed the worry in his voice. "Only to check up on things."

"I'll join you," Lancelot said. Lora eyed him, her gaze dismayed.

"I will see you in the celebrations," he promised, smiling. She glanced at Atora, who was still gazing at the gates.

"Let's go, then," The lady said, urging her horse forward, into the city. "We've got a party to get to."

**Day nine:**

"Open up!"

Gwen jumped, blinking against the morning light. Winter sun streamed in through the window, its rays caressing and hardly warm.

Gwen pushed off the covers, sitting up. Arthur was still asleep on the sofa, feet hanging off the edge. She was on Gaius's bed wearing the green dress she'd worn last night, the sleeves bloody from when she'd tried to tend to Merlin's injured hands. She glanced briefly at Merlin's room. He was still there, sitting, huddled near the wall, hands over his head.

"Open the door! We come by the order of the king!"

Someone was banging loudly on the door, and it shook unstably in it hinges. Gwen got to her feet, maneuvering between the overturned furniture to Arthur's side.

"My lord?"

Arthur granted in his sleep, turning away from her. She dropped to her knee, touching his shoulder lightly. The men outside continued with their earth-shuttering knocks, nonstop.

"Sire!" He blinked sleepily, and then closed his eyes. Gwen nudged him harder, annoyed. "Arthur, get _up_!"

"…What?"

"Now!"

He shut his eyes tightly, opened them, and sat up. "What time is it?"

"Someone get a locksmith," A voice came from outside. Arthur blinked, his memories catching up. "What…"

The pounding continued. Gwen looked at the door, confused. What now?

Arthur grabbed his shirt off the floor, pulling it over his head. He stepped toward the door, turning the key in the lock.

The door opened creakingly. Three knights stood before their prince, their faces blank.

"Gor," Arthur addressed the leader, a large, black haired man of around thirty. "What are you doing?"

"We have orders from the king, sire." Gor said solemnly. "To collect the sorcerer residing here. "

Arthur paused, stock still, gazing at the man. "There is no sorcerer residing here," He said slowly, and Gwen heard the uncertainty in his voice. Gor's face remained passive.

"These are my orders, sire. To collect the boy Merlin at all cost."

Gwen glanced at Merlin. He wasn't shaking anymore, and his eyes no longer searched around wildly. He stared at the floor blindly, lost.

"We need to come in, Sire," Gor said after awhile, as Arthur remains silent, blocking the door.

"No," He said quietly. "You don't."

Gwen came forward, standing at his side. The men paid her no notice. Behind them, on the street, people stared out their windows and doors, frightened. Gwen swallowed hard. On the road, connected to a pair of giant, black horses, was a carriage, Amaroe by its side, and behind it a large iron cage with chains inside it. Amaroe leaned on the cage, grinning, and his eyes wide and excited as he looked at the prince with interest.

Gor lowered his gaze, for the first time seeming uncomfortable. "Sire…"

"I'll speak to my father," Arthur cut in, once again the diplomatic prince. "There's been some sort of mistake."

"We were told to collect-"

"Well _I_ am telling you to go back to the castle, Gor," Arthur said, and the men looked at each other unhappily. Arthur stood before them, wearing his night cloths, and to Gwen he still seemed the one in power against the larger, fully dressed trio.

"King Uther commanded that you will not get involved, my lord," The man to Gor's left muttered apologetically. Arthur's gaze grew furious.

" '_Not get involved_,' " He repeated, his teeth clutched.

Gor drew his sword, not meeting Arthur's gaze. The two others followed. All three men were older then the prince, larger, and properly armored. Amaroe's men, who had been tending the horses, reached for their belts. Gwen saw a woman gathering her children into the house.

"I'm sorry, sire," Gor said sincerely, and moved to go inside. Arthur, eyes seething, moved to block him.

Gor paused. "Sire-"

"Not a step forward, Gor."

The men looked at each other. Gwen glanced fearfully between Arthur and the rest.

Amaroe motioned for his men, and as one they strolled over to the others. Gwen gasped as one of them grabbed her forearm, pulling her toward him. Arthur sprung after her. He had no weapon, his sword resting motionlessly on the kitchen table. The man placed his large hand over her mouth. He smelled like sweat and horse dung.

"Let go of her," Arthur said dangerously. The man looked at him expressionlessly.

Arthur froze, eyes darting from Gwen to Merlin's room, breathing hard.

Gor and his companions, eyeing Amaroe's man with pure hatred, stepped into the shade of the house. Arthur didn't stop them. Gwen struggled against the man's iron grip, but he only tightened his hold, restricting her air supply.

She couldn't see what they were doing inside. Arthur stared at the floor, his expression frozen, overwhelmed. She wanted to tell him that Merlin was sick, that he couldn't protect himself. That whatever Amaroe wanted to do with her would never be as terrible as what he could ever do to him.

She didn't hear a struggle. When the men appeared again, Merlin was held tightly between them, his hands tide in front of him with thick, rough ropes. They looked straight ahead, grimly. She could tell that if it were up to them, they'd have arrested Amaroe's bullies, instead.

The man let go of her, and she dropped to the floor. Arthur was staring behind her at the street, his face grave and solemn. He could do nothing. It was five to one, and more knights stood at the end of the street, unhappily ready to step in if necessary. Gwen turned, still on the floor, as Amaroe's men shoved her friend into the cage, securing the chain around his hands and feet. Her heart pounded. Amaroe was smirking victoriously. She got to her feet.

"Stop!" She called, and the entire street turned to face her. Merlin stared at the chains, emotionless. She couldn't tell if there was enough of her friend left within him to know what was going on. "You can't," She said, and did not know what else to say.

The men turned away from her, locking the cage. Gor and the two other knights stood motionlessly, gazing at Amaroe with disgust.

Finally, Arthur woke up, stepping forward.

"If you do this, you will never again be welcome in Camelot," He said to Amaroe. The man's joyous expression did not change. "And when I become king, I will execute you for murder," The prince continued passionately, unable to look in the cage where Merlin was forced to his knees, oblivious and forlorn. "Of all the sorcerers in Camelot, by poison."

Amaroe got up on the carriage, sitting comfortably in the velvety sit. "I doubt that, Arthur Pendragon," He whispered, gazing at Arthur with his peculiar voracity. "I doubt that very much."

His two men sat at the driver's bench, and snapped the reins. The horses began walking away, almost running over the few people still standing, shocked, in the street.

As the carriage moved Gwen could see behind it at the crowd that had gathered. At its front, mounted on a horse with a rucksack at his back was Gaius, his face ashen.

**This is a very short chapter, but it was just such n excellent spot to stop. I promise the next one would be up in a couple of days to make up for it.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Cured**

**_By TheAlmightySun_**

**Chapter eight**

_____

And just like that, they were gone.

"Arthur," Gwen whispered, her eyes too moist. He didn't look at her, his eyes gazing at Gaius, who stared after the carriage in shock.

"_Arthur_." But he didn't answer. Gwen closed her eyes. Her head was exploding.

When she opened them she saw Lancelot running toward them, his handsome features appalled.

"What happened?" He demanded, and his voice flooded her like a calming breeze. She pushed down the tears, and shook her head.

"They... How long have you been there?"

"Just a few minutes. Did they hurt you?" He took her arm gently, pulling off the sleeve and gazing at the bruises developing over her skin. "Where are they taking Merlin?"

"I don't know," she said. "I'm fine. I'm… fine," But she wasn't. Merlin's sightless eyes staring at the chains around his wrists arrested her mind, erasing everything else. They were wrong. Merlin wasn't a sorcerer. He wasn't. He was sick. Where were they taking him? Why?

Lancelot glanced at Arthur. The prince was still looking after the carriage, which had long since disappeared around the corner.

"Sire?"

"We need to go after them," Arthur said, turning to go into the house. He took his sword off the table. His eyes landed on Merlin's empty room. He looked back towards the others. "Excellent timing, Lancelot. I can't take them all down by myself."

"Right," Lancelot nodded. Gwen stared from one to the other, her fear growing.

"I'll go get a horse. Could you get us some supplies, Gwen?"

"Of course, sire."

"If we go, we must hurry," Lancelot was saying, while his eyes studied the mess within the apartment. He gave Gwen a quizzical look, but remained silent.

"My lord," She said then, biting her lip. "Your birthday is only three days away-"

"We'll be back by then."

"You should tell you father."

"He'd lock me in the dungeons if I do." Arthur tied his belt around his waist, and headed for the door. "Gwen, you need to warn everyone about the water. If they-" he froze in the entrance, gulping hard.

Gaius stood there, his face grave. The old man's voice seemed to age as he spoke. "Is that where they're pouring the poison?"

There was a moment of silence. Lancelot glanced at Gwen, confused.

"How'd you know?" Arthur asked, lowering his gaze from the man' fierce eyes. Gwen had never seen Gaius quite like this. His face was furious and sad and frightened and determined, all at the same time.

"I know Amaroe," Gaius said, entering the house. He glanced around his apartment, but did not seem surprised.

"He calls it a cure," Gwen whispered. Gaius nodded, picking up the bloodied knife off the floor.

"I imagine as much," he said, turning to Arthur. "Of sorcery?"

"Yes," The prince said. He stood motionless at the door, as if waiting for instructions. Gaius turned away from him, looking around the room.

"And Merlin…"

"We fear it affects more then sorcerers, now," Arthur said. Gwen looked at the floor. "He's been sick for a few days, but I didn't realize…" he trailed off. "Amaroe thinks Merlin's a wizard. I don't know why's he's taken him, but-"

"He's taken him to study his powers," Gaius said, cutting him off. "I believe Amaroe has a place somewhere where he conducts his experiments. It should be somewhere near the valley, Jorks. You should go there."

"Right," the prince said. "Lancelot. Are you coming?"

"It's a two day journey, sire," Gwen said, as the two men headed for the door. Gaius was paying them no notice. He picked up a book that was on the floor, his eyes blank. "Your father would start a war if you were late for your birthday, with all the five kingdoms here for the celebrations-"

"We'll just have to be quick about it, then, won't we?" Arthur asked, and stepped outside. "Lancelot, meet me at the city gates in ten minutes. Gwen, I need your help gathering supplies." Gwen followed him uncertainly toward the castle, leaving Lancelot and Gaius standing in the chaotic room, listening to the people's gossip outside.

"Is this what you needed to speak to the king about?" Lancelot asked. Gaius breathed deeply.

"If Amaroe discovered a way to get rid of sorcery, he must have first found out where sorcery is within a man, and has managed to isolate it, and then block it." He said slowly, giving Lancelot a serious look. "Amaroe has the antidote to this… cure. When you find him, you must locate it. Before it's too late."

Lancelot nodded in understanding. Then he glanced out the door, at where the carriage and cage had been just moments ago.

"What was wrong with him?"

"As I understand it," Gaius started, gazing too at the street, "Amaroe has found away to separate magic from its host. Most sorcerers are born, not made, Lancelot, and having something that is so deeply imbedded into their very identity vanish suddenly…" He paused, turning his eyes away. Lancelot thought of Merlin's broken form, thinking. "They don't know where it has gone. Somehow, they don't even remember what it was. Merlin is a very, very powerful sorcerer." Lancelot looked at his friend's room. It was dark. "I can't imagine… the pain… of such a large part of himself, gone."

Lancelot turned to the door. He paused at the entrance, addressing the old man. "It's going to be alright, Gaius."

Gaius didn't answer. When Lancelot looked back, he saw him standing over the kitchen table, where a book of healing potions lay open, herbs scattered over it in a mess.

Lancelot swallowed, closing the door behind him. Brown stood where he left her, her large eyes blinking at him with human emotion within them.

"It's going to be alright," He told her, rubbing her neck.

Then he jumped on her back and pulled the reins. Curious bystanders, who pointed at it and whispered fearfully, surrounded Gaius's house.

"Let's go."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The carriage slid silently through the morning's cool air.

Amaroe was sitting within the cart, dark curtains covering the windows. He was overjoyed with excitement and self-satisfaction. Never before had he felt so accomplished in his life.

Behind the wall on which he leaned was the cage, with the sorcerer silent with in it. Amaroe could hear the chains as they clanked against each other with the turning of the wheels. He glanced at the window behind him, his smile growing at the sight of the dark haired boy, hugging his knees and staring at the cage floor.

The thought of his power made Amaroe chuckle to himself. Only in the last couple years had he started thinking of using sorcerers to his own devices. The two men leading the horses in front were excellent examples of the idea's success. Most of the ones he's tried to control had died during the trails, but he'd learned much from every experiment. Certainly with the power this one possessed, he could do wonders to the five kingdoms.

Amaroe sat back down, thinking. He wouldn't immediately start with the tonics. Those proved too dangerous, and the boy was too precious to waste. There were more pressing issues to deal with, any way. That snot-nosed prince, for instance. He could never operate freely with Arthur Pendragon watching his every move. If the prince was ever to rule, all Amaroe's hard work would go to waste.

Behind him, the sorcerer hissed with pain. His chains screeched as he moved. Amaroe paid him no notice. A thought suddenly occurred to him.

"Corbell!" he called, and the horses halted. The door opened, and the larger of his servants gave him his usual, blank look.

The two men hadn't spoken in years. They were both warlocks, though not particularly powerful ones. They were his most recent successes. They did anything he asked, unquestioning and silent. Of course the experimentation had them mute and dumb, but that was only to be expected. Future trails would be better.

"Get rid of our tracks," Amaroe ordered, pointing at the dirt road behind them, where the carriage's prints were obvious among the rest, thanks to the cage's extra weight. "They might try to follow us."

Corbell did not answer, but he and his brother turned as one to the back of the carriage, and began moving their hands in unison. Momentarily, the tracks were gone, leaving the road peculiarly clean.

"Good. Continue."

They got back to their sits, slapping the horses to make them move. Amaroe leaned back, yawning.

There were still a few hours away from home.

Amaroe closed his eyes, listening to the harsh breathing of the boy behind him.

He dreamed of nothing.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Atora placed her bag on the bed, sighing.

"Would you like me to help you dress, my lady?"

She glanced at Lora, who stood in the room's entrance, her face excited.

"I'm fine, thanks," Atora told her. "You can go explore, Lora. I'll be alright." The girl's face erupted into a gigantic smile, and she bowed gratefully.

"Thank you, my lady!"

She left, almost running. Atora chuckled, falling down on the second bed in the room. She slanted her head to the right, glancing thoughtfully out the window at the courtyard, where carriages and the servant's tents covered every scrap of floor. Her hair was sprawled around her head in a mess, and her cloths smelled like horses and fire. She breathed in, closing her eyes. Outside, the sounds of loud, screaming royal people were lost in the distance.

Suddenly the door opened, and a woman walked in.

"Oh-I'm sorry, my lady," the woman said. She was a servant, her hair dark and long and her skin brown in color. "I thought I saw the prince and his wife at the dining room."

"You probably did," Atora said, sitting up. The woman was holding a basket with clean sheets, and her face was troubled, though she tried to hide it. "I'm their daughter."

"You're Lady Atora." The woman smiled a servant smile, one that Atora knew to be less then genuine. "I'm Gwen. Everyone's been wondering where you were."

"Just late," Atora said, gazing at Gwen thoughtfully. "Is something the matter?"

Gwen blinked, shaking her head. "No, of course not, my lady." She placed the basket on the table. "Do you mind if I start?"

"No."

Atora followed the maid as she pulled the sheets off her parents' bed. She stood up, pulling clean cloths form the basket.

"Would you mind if I help?"

Gwen froze, gaping. "But, my lady-!"

"I'm bored to tears already," Atora told her. "Personally I can't stand these sort of… celebrations. Long speeches and men clashing swords. I'd rather be of use."

Gwen hesitated, and then nodded. "Well, sure, my lady. Whatever you want."

"It's Atora," Atora said, helping Gwen shove the dirty sheets in the basket. "Do you know if the feast would be finished anytime soon?"

"I'd think it'll take a while longer," Gwen said, seeming distracted. "They've been waiting for Prince Arthur."

Atora glanced sharply at Gwen, noticing her voice growing quieter. "I haven't seen the prince since my arrival this morning," She said off handedly. "Do you know where he's gone?"

"No, my la- I mean… no. "

They spread the new sheets, tucking them under the mattress. Gwen concentrated on the lining of the cloth, silent.

"I haven't seen Arthur in a very long time," Atora continued, curious. "Over four years, now. The last time I saw him he was just turning of age. There was a hilarious incident with the pregnant horse in the stables- and the vase-"

"I remember that," Gwen said, and smiled. This time it was true. "It was my first year working in the castle. Where you there?"

"Yes. The expression on his face…!"

"Yes, I know! With the frogs jumping all about…"

"Oh yes! I forgot about that." They laughed, moving on to Atora's bed. Gwen glanced out the window, at the city gates, and turned serious once more.

Atora tried not to groan. "And what is scheduled after the banquet, Miss Gwen? Not another horse race, I hope. There was one just this morning when I came through."

"Just Gwen," The maid muttered. "No, there's a haunt, I think. In the forest."

This seemed to make her even more troubled. Silently she folded the sheet, deep in thought.

"I think I'm done. Thank you for your assistance, my- Atora."

"Wait, don't leave," Atora begged, before she could stop herself. Gwen glanced out the window hesitantly, but paused. "I was… well, I was hoping you could help me," she said. "I…" _Come on. Say it. _"I was looking for…" _say his name. Say it. _"…For my guide. Lancelot?"

She kicked herself inwardly as Gwen's eyes widened.

"You know Lancelot?"

"I've been traveling with him for over a week," Atora said, a tad surprised at Gwen's reaction. "He showed us the way to Camelot. You know of him?"

"Of course. I mean- I do. But he's gone. He left."

Atora frowned. "But- he told me he'd stay. He said he had friends in the city."

Gwen looked at the floor, and her eyes filled with tears. She wiped them on her sleeve. "I- I wouldn't know."

"You seem to know," Atora said, but the maid turned away from her.

"I'm sorry my lady," She said, without correcting herself. "I need to go. There are… other rooms. To tend to. To clean."

"Of course," Atora said, and Gwen rushed out the door. Atora turned to her freshly made bed, groaning, and fell face forward into the pillows.

"Nice job, princess," she told herself, using her official title as the prince's only daughter. "Good luck finding him without using his name."

She turned her head to look out the window again. The sky was gray.

In her mind's eye was his face, contorted with fear and pain.

Deep and far within her own private thoughts... she couldn't stop thinking his name.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Arthur's hand fingered the dirt, searching for clues.

"I don't understand," He said, standing up, the dirt dropping from his hand. "How could there be no tracks?"

"I don't know, sire," Lancelot said. They've been riding for a couple of hours, searching for some sort of sign of the carriage's passing in the way to Jorks. There were none. Arthur turned back to his horse, frowning.

"We should keep moving. They can't keep wiping them the entire way there."

"Are we sure they're headed for Jorks?" Lancelot asked, urging Brown to follow Arthur's white stallion up the path. Over the last hour Arthur had been feeling Lancelot in on everything that has happened to lead to their journey. He did not like it. "I know Gaius said that, but-"

"It's our best shot," Arthur said, though he seemed uncertain. "They could be anywhere."

Lancelot kept quiet, silently agreeing. They were traveling lightly- only a few packs of food, swords and arrows, light armors and no sleeping bags. They had three days to get Merlin and come back. And they didn't even know where he was.

Lancelot's head snapped to the side, his senses perking. "Did you hear that, sire?"

"If someone calls me 'sire' one more time, I'll have them executed," Arthur muttered, annoyed. Clearly Merlin's abduction has taken its toll on him. Lancelot didn't respond. He was listening. Someone was hiding in the bush.

"Show yourself," he called, drawing his sword.

Arthur had heard it, too, and he slid off his horse. "Who's there?"

They stared at the bush for a while. Finally, the thick leaves parted, and a girl marched into the sunlight.

Arthur stepped back, shocked and confused. "Aren't you…"

"I am Norane," she said. Lancelot glanced at Arthur, wondering what was going on. "You're going the wrong way."

There was a pause.

"You're going the wrong way," The girl repeated. She had very pale skin, blonde hair, and a lost expression.

Arthur shook himself out of the shock, and gaped at her. "How'd you get here?" He asked, glancing back at the road suspiciously.

"I saw you going the wrong way, a very long time ago." She said. Her voice was so quiet, Lancelot could hardly hear it. "I came to tell you the way."

"By foot?" The prince demanded, bewildered. Lancelot slid the sword back in place, sliding off Brown's back. The girl's hair was filled with leaves.

"I told you. It was a long time ago. Before I was cured."

"Is this the girl you told me about?" Lancelot asked suddenly, grasping the situation. "Amaroe's success?"

"That's the one. What do you mean you saw us?" Arthur glared at the girl suspiciously.

"In a dream."

"You're a prophet," Lancelot said. Her response was a mild stare. He took it as a yes. "So which is the right way? Do you know?"

"Hey, wait a minute," Arthur protested. "We shouldn't trust her if she's a sorceress."

Lancelot tried not to show his agitation. Norane turned her icy eyes to the prince.

"I am no longer a sorceress, Arthur Pendragon. I have been cured."

The way she said _cured_ sent chills running down Lancelot's back. Arthur looked away from her uncomfortably. They were alone in the forest.

"I've been in Amaroe's dungeons all of my life," She said into the silence, her voice monotonic. "They are up at the higher parts of the mountain. I saw the way when they were bringing me to Camelot."

"No," Arthur shook his head in protest. "Gaius told us they were near Jorks. That's the other direction."

"Is it," Norane said, still staring at him. Arthur and Lancelot exchanged uncertain looks. Brown puffed impatiently.

"Amaroe has been experimenting in the mountains for years," The girl said. "Jorks is a valley. There is a river that starts in the snow cupped mountains, where Amaroe's wastes are poured, and ends in a once-beautiful lake near the valley."

"What do you mean, poured?" Lancelot asked, not sure he wanted to know. "Are you talking about the Ork River?"

"Yes."

Arthur shut his eyes. "Dozens of villages use that river," he said.

Lancelot glanced at the prince. "Didn't Gaius say the people of Jorks have been affected by the cure?"

"He did," Arthur said. "As did hundreds of other people, apparently."

"I wouldn't be worried about them," Norane said dispassionately. "None of the sorcerers in those villages were very powerful. The truly powerful are far away from Camelot and Uther's prosecutions. Your friend is very abnormal in that aspect."

"Our friend is not a sorcerer," Arthur said, rubbing his head. "Are you sure you know the way to-"

"Of course he's a sorcerer," Norane said tonelessly.

Lancelot froze, and then started playing with Brown's reins. Arthur gazed at Norane, annoyed.

"No, he's not."

"Yes, he is."

Arthur shook his head, remounting his horse. "I know Merlin. He's not evil."

"I never said he was evil, Arthur Pendragon," Norane said.

Arthur took a swing from his water skin, and then wiped his mouth. "Sorcerers are evil."

Lancelot cleared his throat. He'd never noticed Brown's neck was quite so ordinary before.

"I'm a sorcerer," Norane said. "I'm not evil. At least, not that last time I checked. I don't check very often, though."

"I didn't mean-"

"What else could you have meant?"

Arthur took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. Lancelot offered Norane his arm, pulling her onto Brown's back, and jumped elegantly behind her. "Merlin isn't a sorcerer. He would have told me."

"And have you execute him?" Norane asked, in the same emotionless tone. Lancelot tried to signal her to shut up, but she didn't notice. "I wouldn't have."

"I wouldn't have executed him." Arthur said, moving his horse backwards, toward Camelot. "Are you sure you know the way?"

"Yes, Arthur Pendragon."

There was an awkward silence as they rode back. Arthur sat brooding in his saddle, frowning.

"If Merlin was a sorcerer I would have noticed," he said finally.

Norane didn't answer. She was staring forward, her eyes vacant.

"He couldn't be a sorcerer," Arthur continued, now talking to himself. "He's… Merlin."

"Excellent argument, Arthur Pendragon."

Lancelot forced down a chuckle. He'd promised Merlin he'd keep his secret. But didn't the fact that Arthur was here, risking his life for his servant, proof that he wouldn't tell anyone, either?

"Getting sick at the same time as sorcerers doesn't make you a sorcerer," Arthur said loudly, becoming agitated.

"No, it doesn't. Sorcerers are born, not created."

"That's not what I meant."

"What did you mean, then?"

"I meant-" Arthur paused. "I meant that Amaroe's cure started affecting non-magical people, and that's why Merlin got sick."

"Of course. Among all the people of Camelot, and all the people drinking from the Ork, your servant alone became ill."

"He was the first!"

"Of course, Arthur Pendragon."

"I-God!" The prince called, pissed. "What do you want from me?"

Norane kept looking forward, emotionless. "To kill Amaroe, Arthur Pendagon."

Lancelot and Arthur glanced at each other, surprised.

"Oh," Lancelot muttered. "Right."

"Why?" Arthur asked, forgetting his dying anger.

Norane's face remained impassive.

"He is evil."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Gaius sat on Merlin' bed, his hands shaking.

He was too late.

He should never have left. He should have known better. What with Uther's growing anxiety over Morgana's kidnapping. He should have realized something like this was bound to happen- he knew it would. He'd known about Amaroe and his cruel experiments for years. How could he have done nothing, all this time? How could he let it go on?

Merlin's blank face haunted his mind's eyes. He had been staring right at him, but did not recognize him. It was as if his beloved almost-son was gone, and only his broken, defeated body remained behind.

He'd sat the boys on their way with few words of advice. He didn't know what to tell them. He didn't know what to tell himself. Was there hope? Did Amaroe really have an antidote, or was that just hopeful thinking, nonsense, the desperate wish of a desperate man?

And what of the disease's final stages? Was Merlin nearing them? Will he sometimes soon find a knife, or a sword, and end his misery?

Gaius's hands were clutched around the kitchen knife he'd found, covered with Merlin's dried blood, on the floor.

He shut his eyes, letting tears slide down his wrinkled face.

"That boy will be the death of me," he whispered, letting the knife drop to the floor.

**I know, I know. Me and my empty promises.**

**I hope this made up for the lateness... A little...**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter nine

"Atora!"

Her mother came toward her, relieved and brainlessly happy, as usual. Atora faked her best smile, letting her mother's skeletal arms engulf her.

"We've been worried sick about you, darling! You took so long!"

"I'm sorry, mother," She said distractedly while eyeing her father, who entered, wordless and brooding. "You shouldn't have worried."

"But how can I not!" Her mother let go of her, and started kissing both her cheeks enthusiastically. "I always worry."

"You shouldn't."

"Don't speak to your mother rudely, Atora," Her father said, pulling off his shoes and stretching across the bed. It was growing dark outside. Her parents had only just arrived in their rooms, after having followed closely the haunting trip that had ended a few minutes before.

"I wasn't speaking rudely."

Her father froze, eyeing her dangerously. "What?"

"Oh come now, you just got here," Her mother cooed, pulling her toward the closet. "Can't you two stop bickering for even a few days? Watch what I've bought you at the market, Atora! The most lovely of dresses- red- it goes so well with your eyes-"

"I don't need another dress, mother."

"I know, darling, but I couldn't stop myself!" She pulled a grotesque cloth out the closet. Atora gulped. She hated dresses.

"You could wear it tomorrow for breakfast. The king has invited your uncle and us to a private feast! Can you believe that?"

Her father grunted. "I doubt that'll happen, Rona. That prince hasn't shown his face all day long. If he's in the city at all. You saw how furious Uther was."

"I'm sure he'll be back by tomorrow." Her mother said. "Go on, Atora, try it on!"

"Mother…"

"Do as your mother says, Atora," Her father said. Atora gritted her teeth, snatching the cloth from her mother's hands.

"Do you remember Prince Arthur, Atora?" Her mother asked while she was changing. "You used to be such good friends."

"He's a prat, mother."

"Atora!" Her father hissed. "Watch your mouth, or I swear-"

"Here," She said, stepping back into the room. Her father's eyes widened in surprise. Her mother squealed in delight.

"It's beautiful! Oh, you should wear this figure all the time. You look like a-"

"Woman," her father said, his dark eyes thoughtful. Her mother giggled, pulling her sleeves this way and that excitedly.

"I think it is time for you to marry, Atora," her father said suddenly. Her mother froze.

"What? No. She's only twenty, honey."

"That's quite old enough!"

"No!"

Atora gawked. Her mother never stood up to her father. No one ever stood up to her father.

"You can't. She's only been back hardly a year-"

"And?" the man said, staring at his daughter's chest and hips. "You've heard Uther this morning, Rona. He wants to find a bride for his son."

"So?" her mother said too loudly, pulling at the dress's belt powerfully, so that Atora could hardly breath. "Atora's too young. And too fragile. And too-"

"She's fine. Maybe a little tall. With some makeup to hide that pale skin, she could even pass as appealing." He studied her. "If you marry the prince-"

"I _won't_ marry the prince."

There was a deadly silence.

"What?" her father demanded. Atora pushed he mother's hands away, pulling up her chin.

"I said, I won't marry the prince."

"No one's asking you."

"I've noticed."

"You will marry the prince," Her father said icily, "If he is blind and deaf and stupid enough for that. Which is not entirely unlikely. And until then, you will do everything you can to get close to him, so that he wants to-"

"I will do no such thing!"

Her mother gasped, shaking her head. "Stop. Stop it both of you! Atora, change to your night gown. It's getting late. No. No, honey, don't-!"

Her father was standing up, seizing his sword's long, narrow scabbard, taking the blade out and replacing it on the table.

"Honey-!"

"Get out, Rona."

"But-"

"Get out, Rona," Her father hissed, and her mother, shaking, left the room. Atora stood stonily before her father, heart pounding in her ears.

He smiled at her.

"Atora." He said, his voice eager.

"Father."

He raised the scabbard, and brought it down powerfully.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

And there were the stars again.

Lancelot let their light wash over him though the blackness. He, Arthur and Norane had stopped for a food break after hours of straight riding, having eaten nothing since that morning- in Arthur's case, since last night. The horses nibbled contently near the river bunk. Arthur was building a fire far away from any visible tree, adding to the flames with the branches Lancelot collected from the higher hills.

Norane was nowhere in sight. Lancelot was getting used to strange antisocial girls ignoring/not hearing him, but Arthur seemed to find it maddening. He seemed to find everything maddening, actually, including the ducks swimming in the river.

"Lancelot, do you know where the water is?"

Lancelot glanced up, surprised. The river streaming behind Arthur's back clashed against the rocky shore loudly.

"Ah… isn't… I mean…" He pointed. "The... river?"

Arthur gave him an irritated glare. "Do _you_ want to drink from the _cured_ Ork?"

Lancelot nodded silently. The cure effected normal people, like Merlin. Right. He moved over to the bags by the tree, shifting through them till he found a half empty canteen.

"Isn't this water contaminated too, my lord? If its from Camelot?"

"I haven't emptied that since before then."

"…Oh." He swallowed, a tad revolted. "Excellent, sire."

"What did I sa-?"

"Arthur. Excellent _Arthur_, sire."

Arthur let his hands drop to his lap, and even managed a smile. "Would you bring it over? I want to make some-"

"Shouldn't we call Norane?"

Arthur froze, and then pulled the canteen out of Lancelot's arms aggressively. "You can call her if you want to."

Lancelot glanced at him in confusion, and then turned to the girl, who had just strolled passively out of the woods.

She looked at him with boredom, as if expecting him to say something.

"Are you hungry?" He asked, gesturing to the fire.

"No." The answer was swift, as if she knew what he was going to ask before he'd asked it. She waited again, looking at her fingernails.

Arthur snorted.

Lancelot ignored him. "All right," He said, ignoring her ignoring him. "Let us know if you change your mind."

"We need to go." She said, now staring at him. "There is no time to waste."

"We will go in just a few minutes."

She didn't seem surprised at the answer, and turned away from him, back into the trees.

"Alright then," He muttered to the empty path. He swirled around back to Arthur, who'd sat down and helped himself to some food.

Lancelot sat in front of him. "We _should_ hurry."

Arthur hummed in response, swallowing. "I know. We'll pack up in a second."

Lancelot nodded, and pulled his meal out of the fire. It wasn't nearlt hot enough, but he gulped it down anyway.

Arthur was staring at him.

He swallowed, giving the prince an uncomfortable look. "Is everything well, Arthur?"

"Do you believe her?" Arthur asked quietly, signaling with his head to the tree line. "About Merlin?"

Lancelot took another slow bite of the food.

Huh.

"No," he said, after a short pause. Arthur seemed surprised.

"'No?'"

Lancelot shook his head. "No. You know Merlin. I know Merlin. He's never shown any signs of… you know. Sorcery." Not publicly, anyway.

"Yes, I know," Arthur said, unsure. "But- well, he's been accused almost too many times to count, and I always took it for granted that he wasn't."

"They never found any proof."

"If they had, my father would have killed him."

Lancelot put down his food, biting the inside of his cheek. "Yes."

Arthur had stopped eating, as well, and was now staring out at the river thoughtfully.

"It doesn't add up."

"What, sire?"

"I… I thought it was only Camelot," Arthur muttered. "That it was becoming a plague. The cure, I mean. That it was only effecting the sorcerers _within_ the city, that it was new and that something has gone wrong and that-"

"That it started effecting non magical people. I know."

"But it's not!" Arthur hissed, shaking his head. "I mean- if it has been all over all these villages- and no one was effected? No one but sorcerers?"

"You don't know that. Maybe other people were effected and no one heard about it."

"No." Arthur rubbed his forehead. "The only way we haven't heard about something like this in the city is if the people effected were in hiding."

Lancelot stared into the flame. Merlin asked him to guard his secret, and he was. But he couldn't keep it up much longer. He glanced at the distraught Arthur. What would the prince do if he found out? Turn back around, back to Camelot?

Lancelot gave up on his food. Somehow, he doubted that.

Arthur sighed, pushing the plate of food away.

"We should get going," he said, brushing sand over the flames. "Come on."

Lancelot turned toward the bags, starting to tie them back to the horses. Norane was already next to them; as if she knew they would be leaving before hand.

When Lancelot turned back to the prince, Arthur was next to the river, washing his hands and face in the water he believed to be contaminated, refilling the empty canteen.

"So," he asked Norane as he came toward them, mounting his horse. "Left or right?"

"That depends," She said, gazing at the stars blankly. "Where is it you want to go?

Arthur paused, grabbing the horse's rein.

"To Amaroe, of course," he said.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amaroe woke up to a sudden halt.

It was dark outside, and it took him a moment to figure out where he was. When he remembered the occupied cage behind his back he smiled, and pushed the carriage's door wide open.

The two men stood side by side on the snowy mountaintop, their bold heads reflecting the moon's rays. Amaroe stepped off the carriage, and turned to the cage.

The air was freezing. They were high up in the mountains surrounding Camelot, standing in the entrance of a foreboding, stone-built house, which hid the entrance of a large cave. Amaroe couldn't stop smiling. He'd missed this place.

"Put him in the cell," he barked at the men. They turned to the cage, pulling the sorcerer out of it. The boy was clearly frozen, his pale skin bluish, but Amaroe ignored that. He told one of the men to handle the horses, and hurried over to his study.

The fire was lit, and out the window the distant city could be seen through the heavy clouds, majestic and white as the snow. Amaroe rushed to his desk, unlocking a drawer within it. He pulled out a small bottle, black in color, with a thick fluid inside.

It was sorcery itself. Magic in a bottle. It was how he's created the cure. And it was how he was going to stop it.

He tucked the bottle into his coat, and locked the drawer again. He hesitated at the door, and then turned to change. It was a special occasion. He wanted to look just right.

Fifteen minutes later he was walking briskly down the dark halls. From the doors he passed on his way the sounds of murmuring and crying could be heard, but he was too excited to pay his other patients any notice at the moment. Finally he arrived at the last door, where the brothers stood, faces forward, expressionless.

They opened the doors, and he entered. Inside, the room was pitch dark. The doors closed behind him. He breathed in elatedly, letting his eyes adjust to the lack of light.

It was a small room. Square, with bare walls and no windows. In its very middle stood a large chair, iron chains protruding oddly out of its armrests. The sorcerer was in it, staring at his lap, breathing with pain.

Amaroe's smile grew.

He stepped closer to the boy, his fingers twitching. The bottle was in his hand. He stopped right next to the chair, and pulled the boy's head gently upwards, not surprised at the lack of resistance.

"Lets chat, Merlin," He said, forcing the liquid down the wizard's throat, watching him choke on it and shake violently, and smiled.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Gaius was walking through the clattered room of his lodgings.

It's been years since the last time he came to find his home like this. Merlin had searched thoroughly through everything. He'd even found what he was looking for. He just didn't realize it.

Gaius picked up the parchment. It was crumpled unceremoniously on the floor, slightly ripped and torn. He was surprised it didn't crumble under the young warlock's hands. It was from years ago.

Prince Arthur's seventh birthday, sixteen years ago. He remembered. It seemed like only yesterday. So many things happened on that day.

He was forced to banish his first apprentice, Amaroe.

Because his second apprentice, Percy, died.

The Great Dragon Kilgharrah was captured, and imprisoned for life below the castle.

Only after the death of one of the most powerful dragon lords the world has ever known.

King Uther declared war all the dragon lords, condemning them to death as sorcerers.

An innocent woman died carrying a magical child.

And Gaius burned every and all papers he ever wrote about the source of magic.

Except for this one.

He glanced down at it. It wasn't part of his studies. It had nothing to do with magic, or the lack of magic, or the source of magic. It was a flu remedy. But on the corner, written hurriedly as if quickly scribbled by a distracted hand, was the formula for a cure from magic.

It was in Amaroe's handwriting.

But in Gaius's words.

**Day 10:**

_His insides were burning._

_They seethed, smoldering, his body churning from the inside out. He wanted to yell out, but his throat was dry and wounded. His arms moved up violently, but heavy chains paralyzed them in their place. Every breath he took was a gulp of lava, his lungs screaming as they filled with the poisoned air, protesting the agony. _

Merlin woke up to a dark room.

He was convulsing, coughing out blood, panting desperately for meager scraps of air and gasping with pain he has never known before in his life. Within him were flames, scorching the inside of his skin like burnt coals or magma, exploding within his chest in unending floods. He shook uncontrollably, trying to hold in cries of pain. Was he dyeing?

Was he dead?

"It hurts, doesn't it?"

Merlin raised his head weakly. A man stood before him, unfamiliar, with a fascinated expression dominating his features. His face was inches away from Merlin's, and he held a bottle in his long fingered hands, gazing with wonder into Merlin's eyes.

"Some have described it as the passage out of hell," The man added. He was the whitest man Merlin had ever seen, with white blonde hair, white pale skin, and eyes so lightly gray they were almost invisible. Merlin hissed with torment, coughing out more blood. The man smiled at him, his teeth too sharp.

"I can't say I've ever seen it quite so violent before," He said leisurely, studying Merlin's face, and his arms, shaking in their shackles. "Quite remarkable."

Merlin swallowed, forcing air into his lungs. It was freezing, icy, and he cried out, gasping. The man drew closer, delighted. He raised an arm to touch Merlin's face, pushing his head backwards, opening Merlin's petrified eyes. "Yes…" He was saying. "Very remarkable indeed."

His touch was colder then the air, and Merlin shuddered. He was helpless against it, and the man proceeded to force open his mouth, watching intently as the boy threw up more blood, choking on it.

"Brilliant," He muttered, placing his cold hand on Merlin's neck, checking the pulse.

Merlin glanced around, panicked. He was in a small, unfamiliar room with no visible doors or windows, strapped to an icy chair by chains around both his hands and feet, too weak to keep upright. The last thing he remembered was…

_A terrible sensation of loss and sorrow. An unimaginable emptiness he could not bring himself to think about. And darkness. Nonstop darkness._

He forced himself to calm, while the man proceeded to stare into his pupils with marvel. Merlin swallowed, gasping.

"W-where am I?"

His voice was haggard, broken, foreign to his own ears. _Water_, he thought, but somehow the very idea made his mind shrink in fear.

The man backed away from him, his eyes wide and rapt.

"Home," He said, and smiled at Merlin ravenously.

Merlin shut his eyes tightly, trying to grasp the situation. He could not. He was shaking uncontrollably, freezing and distressed, wrestling for his memories. His mind was a blank, dark slate. What day was it? How'd he get here?

"Who are you?" He asked the man, and his throat screamed in protest. He coughed again, and blood gashed out of his mouth.

"I am Amaroe," the man said. He was still staring, smiling. "But I think the more important question is who are you, young sorcerer."

Merlin glanced at Amaroe weakly, his breathes shallow and loud. "I… I'm Merlin," He said. "I'm not a sorcerer."

Amaroe's smile stretched.

"But you are," his voice was marveling. "I've never seen anyone react so strongly to my cure."

_Cure._ Arthur said something about a cure.

Gaining his strength, Merlin tested the chains around his hands. They were of some sort of metal, black and heavy. He could barely move his arms within them, never mind escape.

"Tell me, warlock," Amaroe said, coming closer again. "Do you remember anything? At all?"

"Remember what?" Merlin asked. He didn't want Amaroe coming near him again, but the man did, his eyes intent on Merlin's.

"From when your magic was gone."

_From when your magic was gone._

Merlin's mind erupted with floods of memories. He couldn't stop them. _He'd lost something. Something important. Who gave them the right to take it? It wasn't theirs to take!_

"I see," Amaroe said, as Merlin gasped, trying to push against the tsunami. So much darkness. _It was gone…_

"Most sorcerers remember it all," Amaroe muttered, tilting his head. "The stronger ones just snaps and images. But you don't, do you?"

Merlin tried to make himself stop shaking. "I told you. You've got the wrong guy. I don't use magic. I'm not a-"

"But you are!" Amaroe repeated, placing his hands on both sides of Merlin's face, drawing so close Merlin could feel his breath on his cheeks. "A very strong, very powerful sorcerer! The strongest I've ever met!" He couldn't break loose. Amaroe's eyes gazed deep into his, their joy apparent. "And you're going to help me," he whispered, and let go of Merlin suddenly.

"H… Help you?" Merlin demanded, testing the chains again.

"Yes," Amaroe said, turning to the black wall. "With power like yours- and they would never figure out who it was. Yes! You will!" He turned back to Merlin, eyes sparkling. "You and I together! We will kill the prince!"

**Tatatadammmm!!!!!!**

**Likes it? Loathed it? Thought it was stupid and all wrong?**

**Share! :-)**


	9. Chapter 9

**Cured**

**_By TheAlmightySun_**

**Chapter ten**

_____

"You're insane," Merlin breathed, staring at Amaroe's delighted face.

The silence rung clear in the small, dark room.

Amaroe turned back to him, speaking softly. "Is that so." He eyed Merlin peculiarly. The young man raised defiantly in his chains, swallowing the agony still fierce in his entire body.

"I could hand you in to the king right now." Amaroe said. "He'd have you executed in a matter if days once I tell him of your… miraculous… recovery."

"I'm not a sorcerer," Merlin repeated, louder. "And even if I was, I would never help you kill Arthur."

Amaroe paused, licking his lips. Merlin didn't dare to move.

Then Amaroe's expression turned murderous.

He rushed forward and grabbed Merlin by the neck, pushing at his windpipe. Merlin gagged, unable to breath. His hands pulled against the chains, but he couldn't break loose. His magic sparked up, but he didn't dare use it. He gazed into the eyes of his captor, helpless and paralyzed.

"Now listen to me sorcerer," the man hissed fiercely in Merlin's ear. "I know your kind. You'd love nothing more then watch the king die, and that magic-child _prince_ rising to power in his place. Arthur is weak. He would destroy everything his father has worked for years to build, and will bring the evil craft of sorcery back into the kingdom." Merlin retched, his head becoming foggy with lack of oxygen. "Uther is still young." Amaroe continued. "He will remarry and have other heirs- ones that realize what abomination magic truly is." Finally, Amaroe let go of Merlin, and the boy collapsed, gasping and coughing, into his chair. "Arthur must die," Amaroe muttered, half to himself. "There has to be some sort of spell to kill a man unnoticeably. Sorcerers have done it plenty of times. It must be a difficult charm, but you, with your astonishing powers-" he turned to Merlin excitedly. "It'll be a nothing for you."

Merlin looked up at Amaroe, trying to breath. "I- am not- a sorcerer," he gasped, voice breaking. "I can't- I- won't help- you."

Amaroe stayed as he was, smiling at Merlin a warm smile.

"I think you will," he said. "Unless you want me to take your magic again."

Merlin froze.

Amaroe's smile grew. "That's what I thought."

Thoughts jumbled in confusion in Merlin's head. He didn't know why his entire body suddenly stiffened, immobile and cold. There was ringing in his ears. He saw nothing but blackness. His heart was pounding, thunder in his ears, and his mind screamed in protest of the very notion of ever having to-

But it didn't matter.

"I'm not going to help you kill the prince," He said again, slowly, fear and determination growing as one inside him. Amaroe's smile wavered.

"I doubt that," He said, and turned, opening the door abruptly. Merlin shut his eyes against the blinking light, pain shooting through his skull.

"Guards," Amaroe said. Two men came in, dressed in the red robes of the knights of Camelot. They had dark skin and empty expressions, their giant bodies identical in all but scars.

"You will help me," Amaroe said to Merlin easily. The men steped toward him, and he flinched back, pulling the chains. "Or you'll die."

One of the men grabbed Merlin's left arm, and held it tightly.

"Hey-!"

The other took a strange, insect-like object out of his coat, placing Merlin's pointing finger between its contraptions.

"What are you _doing_?"

The guards looked at Amaroe, who nodded, his expression curious again. Merlin's head snapped from the silent man to the two holding him down, fear growing within him. Then the second man closed the object's handles, and the teeth crushed over Merlin's finger, shuttering the bone.

Merlin screamed, trying to pull his hand back, but the first man held it in place. Merlin gritted his teeth, groans of suffering escaping his tightly pinched lips.

"Well?" Amaroe asked, innocently.

"You're mad," Merlin whispered, shaking his head, gasping with pain. Amaroe looked down, smiling ironically.

"I've spent a lifetime studying sorcerers," he said, straightening his gaze to Merlin's agonized eyes. "How to make them do what I want."

"I won't help you kill Arthur," Merlin called again, and the door behind Amaroe's turned back flew open by its own, hitting the wall crushingly.

Amaroe turned, and smiled. Merlin breathed hard, trying to keep conscious. Tilting his head to the side with fascination, Amaroe signaled the guards, who move on to the next finger.

"No- wait!" Merlin pleaded, shaking with pain.

Amaroe grinned victoriously, and they paused.

"Yes?"

Merlin looks at him, breathing hard.

There was silence.

"Never mind," He said then, and closed his eyes tightly. Amaroe's smile lessened. He nodded at the two men, and turned to leave.

Merlin braced himself, and screamed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Amaroe left the cell in high spirits, the boy's screams reverberating through the hall behind him, mingling with the echoes of his tread.

It would not take long for the young sorcerer to join him. Corbell and Terko, his trusted men, were very good at convincing people.

And even if they didn't. There was always science to count on.

With the boy's talents… Amaroe relished at the thought. So much wild, raw magic… what could be done with such boundless, limitless power! Amaroe run his tongue over his lips, picturing the potential. Getting rid of that ignorant, mutinous prince was only the beginning. After that…

He chuckled. The _possibilities_…

He had reached his study, and entered. His rooms were warm compared to the halls, and Amaroe pulled off the extravagant robes he'd worn. Then, watching that the fire at the hearth was still flaming, he moved toward a beautiful wooden closet with doors made of glass, within which hundreds of small carefully labeled bottles glistening sadistically, reflecting the light of the hearth.

On the top shelf was a bottle, around two inches high, with a transparent liquid unmoving inside.

He had been working with warlocks for many, many years. They were not an understanding bunch. They could never accept the gift he was giving them- freedom, from the incarceration of sorcery. They often needed to be persuaded before agreeing to his wishes and doing as he demanded. That was why he'd created this particular concussion.

He didn't have a name for it. He rarely had names for his inventions. He'd used it plenty of times before. The more powerful the wizard, the better it worked; the greatest example being the two brothers, Corbell and Terko, who had been his to command for almost three years.

It was a marvelous mixture. A few key ingredients and a pint of his spit, and he had his patients abiding his every word and demand. Unquestioning. Never failing. With no hesitation or remark, they simply did as instructed, without a second thought.

Amaroe pulled the bottle out, and smiled at his image shimmering in the glass.

Of course, there were drawbacks. Amaroe locked the closet, slipping the bottle into an inner pocket of his coat. It only worked on those with magical ability, for instance. Only those with significant ability, at that. And of course it took an unguarded mind- a rare find indeed. But Amaroe wasn't worried. A healthy body is a healthy mind, as the saying went. Or something like that.

And if that night's physical pain did not cause the necessary mental distress, well…

There was always tomorrow.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Atora stared at her food.

It was disgusting. On her plate was a giant, gray-scaled fish the size of her fist, its dead, staring eyes gazing up at her accusingly, and its mouth open and stuffed with some green thing that smelled like the stables. Around the fish-head was a circle of its own eggs, wet and sticky and colored a vomit educing pink.

She couldn't stand pink.

She was sitting between two of her cousins at King Uther's table, wrestling with her insides. The sound of people eating filled the large hall, silverware clashing against plates and soft murmurs of conversation. Her father sat next to his brother, who sat next to Uther, who sat next to an empty sit where his son was supposed to be. Uther kept glancing at the door with irritation every few minutes, awaiting the prince. Meanwhile her uncle kept him company, discussing taxes and farming lands. Atora looked at her father, who sat silently next to the two kings. Though him and his brother were twins, and similar in every physical aspect apart from her uncle's lighter eyes, no one ever confused them. It had something to do with Boro's open charismatic expression against her father's brooding, menacing one.

Her father was the oldest between them, by exactly three minutes. He was supposed to become king, until her grandfather decreed differently. The old king did not believe in the seniority of age, much less of 180 seconds. He declared that the first of his sons to produce a male heir would be his replacement.

Her mother got pregnant two months before the current queen. Nine months later, when her father had been ready to except the throne, she was born, female.

Her cousins giggled loudly, and asked permission from their father to leave. He smiled and nodded, waving them off. Atora looked back to the fish. The green stuff was drizzling out of its mouth.

"Would you like some more water, my lady?" A voice said from behind her. She glanced back at Gwen, who was holding a pitcher in her arms and trying not to look uncomfortable or worried, though dark circles surrounded her eyes.

When Atora turned, the girl gasped.

"What- your face!"

"It's nothing. I'd love some more water, thanks."

Gwen stood there, shocked, and then proceeded to pour the water with shaking hands. As she leaned she whispered in Atora's ears.

"Who did that to you?"

Atora didn't answer. She glanced at her dad, who was staring at his brother with discreet hate.

Gwen looked at him, too. She paled. The water overflowed, and Gwen gaped, pulling back the pitcher.

"I'm sorry-!" she called loudly. The people at the table turned to them, and laughed. Atora rose to her feet, her lap drenched. "Come on, my lady," Gwen muttered, guilty. "I'll help you find something dry…"

Atora let the girl pull her out of the room, down the hall, and though the labyrinth of the castle and back to her family's chambers.

Gwen closed the door behind them, leaning back on it.

"Did your father do that to you?"

Atora stood silent, gazing at the servant thoughtfully. She knew what Gwen was referring to. She had bruises around her neck, and her left cheek was swollen. She touched her face gingerly, remembering last night.

Gwen came toward her, inspecting the wounds. "I would have never thought- I mean- he is the king's brother!"

"And I am a girl," Atora explained cynically, letting the older girl gawk at her face. "I'm fine," She added after a while, in reaction to Gwen's horrified expression.

"You should tell someone," The servant said hesitantly, going over to get a bowl of water and a wet cloth. She began dubbing at the injuries gently, trying her hardest not to hurt the torn skin. "It's not… supposed to be that way."

"Tell who, exactly?" Atora asked scornfully, trying not to verbalize her pain. "My mother knows. My uncle knows. Everyone knows. And yet no one seems to."

Gwen perched her lips, frowning. Atora was surprised by her reaction. Not many people in her country thought it was even odd.

"Then you should leave," The servant stated angrily. "You can't let him do that to you."

There was a long silence. Atora's skin began to feel lighter as the tormented flesh was eased. Gwen went over to clean the cloth, replacing the water with cleaner ones.

"I run away once," Atora said suddenly. "Me and my mother had a terrible fight. She said I should just take it, like she does."

"Where did you go?" Gwen asked, her eyes large.

"To the villages. I pretended to be a common girl. For two years."

Gwen's face turned from anger to shock. "Two years?" She demanded, stunned. "All on your own?"

Atora stared out the window. The sky was blue, an odd color for the season. A storm was brewing.

"Not on my own." She paused. Gwen had stopped tending her, and concentrated all her attention on her words. "I… I met someone. A boy."

She glanced at Gwen. The older girl seemed suddenly distant, as if remembering her own love, and her eyes grew moist.

"He didn't know who I was," Atora continued. She'd never said this to anyone. She could never bear to. "He thought I was just some village girl who's sprung out of the blue. I haven't seen him since my father's men discovered me one day. In the woods."

Gwen's eyes were tearful, but Atora could not tell if it was for her or for someone else. "I'm sorry," the servant whispered, sincerely. She met Atora's eyes, and the girl saw fear and pain in the brown orbs. "Was he…"

"He wasn't afraid of who I was, even after he found out," Atora said quickly. "It was… something else, that separated us." Gwen nodded, turning and, wiping her eyes on her sleeve, carried the bowl back to the sink. "I've heard- that is, someone told me he was in Camelot," Gwen paused, and turned around. Atora looked out the window again, at the bustling city. She'd never said that to anyone either. "That's why I came. To look for him."

Gwen followed Atora's gaze, looking into the blue sky. "If you tell me his name, maybe I could-"

The door burst open.

"Atora, get dressed," Her father said, rushing in, in a fury. He glared at Gwen hatefully, though the two never met. "Can't you do anything without shaming me? We need to go to the tournament. Your mother's already there. Arthur Pendragon might be there, and I need you to-" He halted mid sentence as Gwen glowered at him distastefully. "Who are _you_?" he demanded, stopping his hurried walk in front of her.

"Gwen," The servant said. She looked back at Atora and gave her an encouraging nod. "I was just leaving."

"Good, then leave," The man said, and did not take his gaze off her until she closed the door behind her retreating back. Then he turned to Atora. "Well?"

She stood motionless for a moment longer, and then walked toward the closet, pulling out a particularly ugly dress.

She never told anyone before of the boy who loved her.

_Her_ boy.

Her wizard.

**Who updated a week late? _Me_? **

**No...!**

**Sorry. I actually lost track of time. For a week. Aha. Been studying for math and history and grammar and- don't ask.**

**Anyway... I realize Atora's part must have seemed a tad boring as of late, but I think we're starting to get the point of her. I hope sometimes soon she'll be as interesting as the rest of them...**

**Not too soon, though.**

**:-)**

**What did you think?**


	10. Chapter 10

**Cured**

**_By TheAlmightySun_**

**Chapter eleven**

_____

King Uther was pacing the meeting hall.

He had never been more furious in his life.

In a few days would be his son's twenty-third birthday.

Hundreds of guests have been invited, a feast has been prepared, and a warrior competition was scheduled, as was a ball. It was the largest celebration Camelot has seen in years. The most expensive. The most stunning. The most planned.

And the crown prince was missing.

Uther didn't know what to do with him. It was one thing to insult one of the most respected scientists in the world, never mind _him_, the _king. _He could even forgive those ridiculous comments about sorcerers being good. He could even forgive the empty sit by his side for the past two days.

But if that boy didn't turn up by tomorrow, he'll throw him in the dungeons and lock the door behind.

"My lord?"

Uther turned, eager for news. Then his face fell.

"Gaius. I see you've returned from your trip."

The old man nodded, and entered. He closed the doors securely behind him, facing the king severely, his eyes intent.

"My lord. I must speak with you about the cure Amaroe has provided you with."

"Ah, the cure," The king said, turning away from his old physician. "Possibly the only good thing to happen in the last couple weeks. It is quite phenomenal, isn't it?"

Gaius did not answer. The king sat contentedly at his throne, giving the old man a questioning look.

"Isn't it?"

"You know my opinion, sire."

Uther grunted in amusement. "Yes. I do. I assumed they changed, after such a mind blowing success."

"You cannot possibly call this disaster a success, my lord," Gaius said, swallowing his anger.

The king's eyebrows rose. "'Disaster', you say? In what way? The streets are at long last magic free, and my kingdom is under no threat. There will be no more executions. No more people have to die because- what have you called it? Their_ birth_."

"They're not dead yet," Gaius said, trying to keep his voice level. "Just imprisoned. And not just in your dungeons, my king, also within themselves- in a prison they will never escape!"

"I think imprisonment victors against death, Gaius," The king said, a tad belittling. "You cannot blame me, or Amaroe, for their inability to handle being cured of the contamination that has been darkening their souls for so many years. Normal men can handle the lack of magic- and if _they_ can't, that is merely because they're too polluted, _tainted_, to do so."

"You are largely mistaken if you believe all the… _cure_ does is make sorcerers non-magical," Gaius said gravely, looking at the king defiantly. "Their magic is still there, just locked away from them, so that they cannot reach it. Imagine not reaching a part of yourself, my lord. Imagine being locked out of your own self."

Uther brushed him off with a lazy wave. "Please stop with these ridiculous theories, Gaius. Both you and I know you'd disagree with anything I do to demolish sorcery. You don't want to kill them, and now you don't want to keep them alive. I'm truly at a loss as to what you would find acceptable-"

"I must remind you, my lord," The old man cut him off. The king fell silent, his previously easygoing face turning furious. He was not used to being cut off. "If you remember what had occurred only sixteen years ago-"

"Of course I remember," the king hissed, standing up in a fury. He marched down to the window, gazing out. "There's no need for reminding, Gaius. It has nothing to do with anything."

"The young woman you loved. The one that carried _your child_ within her- the one that died because you could not accept the child's magic-"

"Stop!"

"You must realize, my lord, that your views of magic are becoming more and more radical, more and more dangerous to the kingdom! She was just a girl, and she died because of your hate for sorcery. Would you now execute your own son, who was born out of magic!?"

"Gaius, if you do not cease this instant, I will-"

"If you distribute the cure among all the people of the kingdom, you will never be able to bear the consequences. Exactly as you couldn't bear the consequences of the death of Arthur's mother. Or the death of servant girl you had locked up in the dungeons, pregnant with your own-"

"Guards!"

Gaius fell silent, breathing hard. The doors opened behind him, and two knights entered.

"Escort Gaius back to his lodgings," King Uther commanded, his face ablaze. "And make sure he stays there."

The two men bowed, and reached for Gaius's hands. He brushed them off, giving the king one last mournful look.

"You keep repeating the same mistakes, my lord."

The king turned his head back to the window, where the sun was shining with all its might.

"This was all you idea, to began with," He muttered, as the knights escorted the old man out.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Merlin's head was underwater.

He couldn't breathe, but he struggled, anyway. Hands held him down tightly, drowning him, keeping his nose and mouth under the surface. He pushed against them wildly, his lungs screaming for air, his battered body tortured to the point of exhaustion. What hadn't they done to him?

They've taken off the chains, pulled him roughly out of the chair, used their bare fists and heavy boots to smash and pound at his body, had cut into his flesh with large sharp knives, and burned his skin with coals. Merlin could feel every inch of his body, every cell, every molecule. His throat was utterly raw from screaming, and his left hand, where all five fingers had been shattered, was all he could think about.

His head was spinning from lack of oxygen. He kept gulping down water, trying to breathe, shaking and fighting against the men taking his life. He had no energy left. He couldn't keep fighting for long.

He didn't know how long he'd been there, locked in the cell with the two giants. A few hours? A few days?

Everything became cloudy. Merlin saw the bubbles escaping from his tightly shut mouth, and felt the water settle down around his head as his shoulders stopped moving. He blinked slowly into the scorching cold water, thinking of his mother, and Gaius, and the prince for whom he was dying, the one who loved calling him an idiot eight to nine times a day…

Just as his vision turned black and the last scraps of air escaped his bloodied lips, they pulled him out, dropping him brutally on the stone floor, gasping, chocking and spitting up blood and water. Merlin couldn't make himself open his eyes, or turn around, or move. He lay as they left him, broken and shivering.

A shoe stepped loudly right in front of his face.

Merlin coughed out more blood, his lungs sucking air violently. He was shaking. Amaroe leaned down next to his head, smiling.

He hated that smile.

"So, what do we say now, sorcerer?" The man asked. Merlin heard his voice as if from far away, and it did not fit the movement of his lips. He could no longer feel his body. He could no longer feel anything. "Are you going to help me?"

Anything, but hate.

Amaroe's too-light eyes stared at him expectantly.

Merlin swallowed, and, wrestling against his screaming muscles, shook his head.

"No," Amaroe repeated, looking even more excited. "That's too bad."

He straightened, pulling something out of his coat. Merlin tried to push himself away, but his arms weren't responding. He lay, motionless, as the older man leaned back down, a green bottle held loosely in his fingers.

"Right, then," He said, unscrewing the top.

Merlin could do nothing as Amaroe raised his head slightly. He was blinded by the pain. Amaroe poured some of the liquid into Merlin's mouth, and Merlin couldn't find the strength to spit it out.

"Alright then, boys," Amaroe said, putting Merlin's head down gently on the floor. Merlin shuddered, and the act made his agony triple. "Let's let him think it over for a while."

They headed after him, out the door. Amaroe turned to Merlin, and smiled.

"You may just change your mind," He said happily, and locked the door behind.

OOOOOOOOOOO

Atora sat between her parents, staring at the fighting warriors clashing swords below.

They were dressed in the usual red-rimmed silver armors, their heads fully hidden from view. They had fancy names, and long, stretching titles. Their muscles were well trained and steal strong, their smiles smug and certain. She held a conversation with one of them once. It involved many different variations of the word 'uh'.

It was nearing noon, and the sun was at its highest. All around her people sat and cheered, laughing and joking with each other. Her mother was having the most fascinating discussion with the queen of some kingdom Atora should have probably known the name of, about useless maids that folded cloths wrong. Her father was still, dark and brooding as usual. Atora had no memories of him being any other way.

And she was bored to tears.

She didn't see the point. She really didn't. She'd been watching these useless competitions for years, ever since she could remember herself, and found them overall very noisy. It got a little exciting when someone started to bleed, but that didn't happen too often. The competitors didn't really want to hurt each other. They only wanted to win.

As she was staring out at the sky, watching the clouds collect in threatening clusters, thoughts made their own clusters in her mind. Thoughts she never told anyone. Thoughts she kept to herself.

She was so young when she left, what, three years ago now? Seventeen. Seventeen years old with carefully manicured nails and perfect hair. She always wore the best silks. She always smelled of the best perfume.

It all made her gag.

It wasn't the perfume. It wasn't the gowns. It wasn't even her father.

She was trapped.

Like a captive animal, well trained to jump and bark on cue, waiting out the days until it died. Every day was the same. Smile. Say please. Say thank you. Complement the right people, disregard others. Stand straight. Chew slowly. Cross you legs when you sat.

Seventeen was the age of marriage. She was the only daughter of Zorath's aging prince. They brought forth men of the right blood, the right families. Handsome and ugly, young and old.

She wanted to run in the fields and ride horses. She wanted to let her skin soak in the sun and let the sounds of the forest engulf her. To walk barefoot in the grass and watch young birds as they learned to fly.

She didn't want to get married. She didn't want to paint her face with makeup and sprain her ribs with corsets. She didn't want to lock her unruly hair into tight fitting bens. She didn't want to stay in doors and wear gloves and use umbrellas against the sun.

And she told them that she didn't.

She told _him_.

And when he locked her in her chambers, her body red and blue from his strokes, she smashed the vaulted window open, climbed down the tree that grew beneath her rooms, and ran.

Bleeding, hurting, limping, she ran, tears sliding down her face, washing away her makeup. She circled around the castle, passing the bridge over the river and entered the wild woods. She'd never gone there before, but she couldn't turn back. Owls and wolves and other creatures howled at her as she passed, and she ran faster- faster and faster until her bare feet turned bloody and her skirts had ripped beyond repair. Her throat was dry and her face was wet, and the whipping winds and the roaring rain that had started mellowed the sobs. Lighting stroke and she screamed, falling to the soggy ground, shivering with cold and fear and loneliness. She was lost and alone. She couldn't go back, but where else could she go?

There was a roar of thunder.

Atora glanced up, snapping out of her dreams. Her father was standing besides her, staring, wide eyed, at the sky.

It was no thunder.

It was a dragon's growl.

**For anyone wondering, Merlin CAN use his magic now, since Amaroe gave him that first potion that 'woke' him up, and that was the antidote Gaius told Lancelot about earlier.**

**(Suzie- sorry. :-) )**

**About Atora and her father: Atora's father is the older twin brother of the king of Zorath (King Boro), which is a kingdom that has been in good term with Camelot for a while. He's a prince because he's the son of a king. There is no blood relation between Atora and Arthur! (Though that wouldn't have stopped her father...) **

**Anyway... the next update might take a little longer, since, well, I've got some school stuff going on (and on, and on, and on...) I'll try to get it in by Saturday as usual, but I can't promise anything!**

**By the way... if anyone notices Merlin's injuries being a little too... ah, medically inaccurate, let me know! I don't know much about that, but I'd like to stay realistic (as realistic as one can playing around with magical characters in medieval times).**

**What did you think? (Has anyone noticed that there are 121 reviews?!!?!!!!! God! Thank you!!)**


	11. Chapter 11

**Cured**

**_By TheAlmightySun_**

**Chapter twelve**

"Is this it?"

Arthur was staring at the unimpressive building, dark against the white mountaintop.

"Yes," Norane said.

Lancelot stared at it, as well. He didn't know what it was he'd been expecting, but it wasn't a _house_. More like a cave. With bats. And ghosts. And evil eyes glaring at him from the deep shadows.

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked, clearly sharing Lancelot's thoughts. Norane ignored him.

"You will find the wizard Merlin inside. He had been held in one of the cells, but he's no longer there." She remained sitting as the two men dismounted, still gazing at the building. "You will not need the horses on the way back," She said, grabbing on to the reins. "You will use the river."

"We will use the river," Arthur repeated, confused.

"And you saw all these as a prophet _before_ you were cured?" Lancelot asked, becoming a little suspicious. A thought had occurred to him during the climb up. They were following this girl's instructions like puppets. What if she was working with Amaroe? Were they walking into a trap?

"Amaroe's cure does not work well on me," She said. "I'm not an average witch. And I've been cured and then given the antidote for the cure and then cured again so many times- it does not effect me like it used to."

With that, she turned the horse, heading back down the path.

"Hey!" Arthur called after her, his scabbard, which he has been taking off the horse, hitting the ground forcefully. "Where are you going?!"

"I'm needed at Camelot," She said, not turning back.

Lancelot and Arthur exchanged looks. Brown moved in place uncomfortably, growing cold.

"Go on, girl," Lancelot told her, leading the animal toward the path. "No need for you here."

He wondered if she understood him as she started walking after Norane, who had now urged Arthur's horse into a gallop.

"I don't like this," he told Arthur, turning back around. The prince glanced again at the building. It was one story tall, built into the rock of the mountain, with a large, oaken door.

"I think there's something behind it," He said thoughtfully, walking forwards carefully. There were no guards lining the entrance. Lancelot supposed there was never any need for them, up here in the frozen wasteland, where no human had set foot in years.

Amaroe didn't count.

They walked around the building, glancing through the windows. Arthur was right. There was a tunnel inside, leading into a dark, sinister stairwell that swirled down into blackness.

"This makes more sense," Arthur said, and turned back to the door.

"Are we just gonna walk in?" Lancelot demanded, following.

Arthur turned back to him, serious. "Any threat we may face would be inside," he said, opening the unlocked doors. Lancelot walked in first, glancing around for danger.

There was nothing inside, apart from a few torches lining the stairwell, lighting the way down.

The two stood at the top, staring down to the blackness.

"Ready?" Arthur asked.

Lancelot started climbing down.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Merlin had been lying on the ground, unmoving, for almost an hour.

It was freezing.

It was painful.

It was humiliating in every aspect.

He could still taste the bitter tang of the potion Amaroe poured down his throat, but he noticed no difference. He guessed his captor was waiting for something. Currently it stood between something occurring, or Merlin going raving mad thinking about it.

The second seemed very likely.

Merlin had never been in such intense pain as he was in now. Not ever, in his entire life. He'd been beaten before, chocked half to death, and was even poisoned to the point of dying just a few months before, when he drunk a toxin meant for Arthur's lips. But none was like this. None was so alive, so demanding, so exhausting and agonizing.

He could think of nothing but.

He had to get out of there. Before whatever Amaroe gave him started working. Before he died. Before he killed himself.

Gritting his teeth he pushed himself up, leaning on his right hand, which he thought had not been hurt, only to discover a relatively old wound he did not remember getting in the shape of a deep cut in his palm. He hissed, and collapsed back to the floor, gasping with the pain of it.

_Get up._

He tried again. This time his arm was stronger, shaking only slightly, and he managed to sit himself up tenderly, feeling every muscle in his body strain under the effort. Merlin swallowed, sweat trickling down his brow. He looked up at the hardly visible door before him, beyond which he hasn't yet been able to see.

How could he escape, if he could barely sit upright?

Merlin took a few powerful breaths. He had to use magic. There was no way around it. Amaroe seemed to already be convinced of his powers, and even if he weren't, Merlin wouldn't live long enough to convince him otherwise. But he couldn't heal himself- not in the state he was in. Healing took energy he did not possess even on a normal day, when he had the right amount of blood coursing his veins and remembered the last time he had eaten and drunk. No. He'd have to think of something else.

Merlin glanced at his broken hand, feeling the familiar tint of magic at the back of his eyes.

"_Corato li pora_," He muttered coarsely, and the pain disappeared.

His hand was still distorted, smashed and damaged, but at least he no longer felt it. It was like a lifeless thing glued onto his arm tightly, heavy and cumbersome.

Merlin turned to his oddly curved knee, and muttered the same charm.

It felt numb, but at least it was no longer painful.

He used the chair and his less-hurt right hand to lift himself on one foot. His head spun with the motion, and he swayed in place, unbalanced.

This wasn't gonna work.

But it had to.

Swallowing hard, he limped as best he could over to the door. He leaned on it heavily, panting. His right leg held most of the weight, while the other dragged behind him inertly. He bit his lip, drawing blood. Then he cursed himself. As if he needed any more injuries to add.

He tried the handle, but it was locked. Merlin closed his eyes, concentrating on the magic. He was so tired. And hungry. And parched. What would happen if Amaroe caught him?

He tried not to think about it, and murmured an unlocking spell. The door ignored him. His foot was screaming against the weight, and he leaned more heavily against the door, resting his head against the cold wood.

He muttered the spell again.

The door paid no attention.

He started sliding down to the floor, letting his useless leg rest. His magic was maddening. He could vanquish his own pain, mask it behind some gentle throbbing, but not perform a silly unlocking charm?

Angry tears threatened to erupt, but he stopped them. There was only one thing on his mind.

_Amaroe._

His captor's smile filled his blackening vision. If he ever did manage to get out, there was only one thing he wanted to do, after saving Arthur.

He wanted to smash Amaroe's head into some rock, and choke him with his bare hands.

Merlin breathed in deeply, placing his good- well, better- hand on the knob, closing his eyes.

He let his magic flow through his fingers.

When he opened them, his magic was there, within him, sparkling in his pupils.

He repeated the spell, and heard the lock as it repositioned.

Merlin forced himself to his feet. He was standing before the door, his hand on the knob. Amaroe's men would be outside, waiting.

He swallowed.

Gently, quietly, he opened the door.

**Now, I know that this chapter was ridiculously short- but to make up for it, the NEXT chapter will be ridiculously long! And action-filled! And… you know… chapter-ly!**

**I want to say thank you for everyone who reviews. You don't know how much that means to me. I love reading all of your ideas and thoughts, and also your critic since it makes the story more logical. So thanks. :-)**

**-TAS**


	12. Chapter 12

**Cured**

**_By TheAlmightySun_**

**Chapter thirteen**

Amaroe's men where there. He could see their shadows, giant and stretching on the cold stone floor. One of them held a torch, and they both stood motionlessly, staring forward into the black hall.

Merlin gulped. He didn't dare move for fear that they would notice him. He had to think of a way to get past them alive.

He inched the door open slowly, the pain in his leg and back increasing with the wait. He did not raise his eyes from their shadows, waiting for the smallest motion that would indicate they've spotted him.

They stood on both sides of the hall, facing away from him, a distance of almost three feet between them and the wall of his cell. Merlin looked around. The cell was at the very end of a long, stretching corridor, which was lined with doors. The door was at right angles with the rest of the corridor, like a dead end, or an end where people came to die at.

Merlin managed to open the door fully without it creaking. The men had not noticed him yet. He found it odd that they simply stood there, looking straight, not conversing or laughing or playing cards, like the guards at Camelot loved to do. He bit his lips for a second, thinking.

Then he took a step forward, hoping that his numb foot could support his weight for the single moment it took for the other foot to exit the room.

It didn't.

Merlin collapsed on the floor, gasping with pain. Wild colors like firework erupted in front of his eyes, as he tried uselessly to prop himself back to a standing position. Giant hands clutched at his arms, pulling him up ferociously and shoving his weak frame against the icy wall. Merlin forced his eyes to focus, seeing the man's blank face as he held him up by one hand, chocking him.

He struggled, trying to break free. What was it with people and choking him, anyway? Merlin used his good arm to pull and claw at the larger hand holding him, while the second man turned to the corridor, probably to call Amaroe.

With a loud explosion, both man were shoved into the opposite wall, falling one on top of the other in a hip on the ground.

Merlin fell on the floor, his eyes turning to their usual color. He rubbed his neck, feeling the bruises developing. Add that to his arm, his leg, his back, and his ribs, and you've got yourself a-

The men had begun to stir. Merlin froze, paling. There was only so much magic one could perform while he could barely walk.

"_Porago_," He muttered. The men slumped back down, fast asleep. Breathing out in relief, Merlin turned to the black corridor. The spell wouldn't last longer then a few minutes.

Now.

Find the way out.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They've reached the end of the stairwell.

Arthur glanced around, looking out for trouble. They stood in a small room, out of which six different corridors trailed, each one ending far enough away that he could not see the edge.

The place was enormous. Arthur sighed, turning to inspect each hallway. All six were identical. And huge.

Lancelot entered one of them, walking in a brisk, low crouch, sticking to the wall. He stopped by the first door. A torch was lit by its side. The door was oaken, and had a black, simple, iron knob.

"They're all the same," He said quietly, glancing at the rest, lining each of the corridors in spaces of eleven or twelve feet. "Did Norane say anything to you?"

"Nothing helpful," Arthur muttered bitterly under his breath, pulling out his sword. "We'll just have to stop someone and ask for instructions."

Lancelot nodded, pulling out his own sword. Just as he was doing so a door to their left opened, revealing an elderly woman carrying a platter upon which were three bottles and a small, sharp knife.

She paused, seeing the two knights standing under the torchlight and their swords, held at level with her head.

Then she blinked blankly and proceeded to walk down the aisle toward the next door, opened it with her wrinkled hand, and entered.

Lancelot and Arthur did not move.

Lancelot was the first to lower his weapon. "Do you think she's calling for help?"

"No," Arthur said, frowning. "Do you think- maybe she's blind?"

Lancelot did not reply, moving toward the door the woman just came from. He could have sworn that she did not lock it behind her, and yet the door refused to open at his touch.

"Magic, do you think?"

Arthur shrugged. Lancelot moved to try the following door, beyond which the woman now was.

"It won't work," Arthur said, as Lancelot shook the knob vehemently. "You're right. She must be locking and unlocking it with a spell. She works for Amaroe."

"As what?" Lancelot asked, gazing at the door thoughtfully. "A… a maid?"

Just as Arthur begun to answer, a scream erupted from the room. The two glanced at each other, raising their swords once again.

The knob turned. Arthur swallowed. _What the…?_

The woman walked out, still carrying the platter; only this time there were four bottles upon it, rather then three.

Again she paused, glancing at them briefly, and then moved on, her shoulder passing dangerously close to Lancelot's blade as she moved to the next door, closing the last behind her.

"Hey!" Arthur called, stepping toward her. "Stop!"

She ignored him, walking on. The platter was level and balanced in her hands, the liquid hardly moving within the bottles as she stepped.

"We're looking for our friend," Lancelot said diplomatically, lowering his sword and walking toward her, matching his pace to hers. "He's tall, with black hair. They've brought him in late last night."

The woman paid no notice. She stopped by the door, placing her arm on the knob. Arthur, walking on her other side, saw a wave of light pass over the handle before she opened it. He heard a muted click.

"Lancelot, what are you-" Arthur gaped as, while the woman stepped through the door, Lancelot trailed after her. Glancing uncertainly back at the empty corridor behind them Arthur followed, hardly making it through before the door was shut behind him.

The woman didn't seem to care. She moved toward a torch by the door, and lit it with a touch of her hand. Arthur watched with horror as the room came into light, gaping at the huddled body sitting, shaking, in the corner.

He had no idea who he was. Just a boy, maybe seven years old, dressed in filthy peasant clothes that had not been washed in days. His face was streaked with tears, his arms hugging his knees into his chest as he shook, sobbing. On a high shelf over his head were a bottle and a knife. There were no windows, and beside the torch that the woman just lit, no light.

She walked over to him. He cried out. She reached up and pulled the knife and the bottle, got to her knees, and grabbed hold of his skinny arm.

He whimpered.

Lancelot and Arthur stood, motionless and confused. What was this? The woman took the knife, and placed it gently on the boy's inner wrist. Lancelot walked forward, his brow frowning. His sword was still in his hand, glistening to the light of the fire.

The boy screamed loudly as the knife was shoved into his skin, drawing blood. Arthur raised his weapon as Lancelot stepped forward, his eyes wide.

"Hey-!"

The boy gave them a pleading look, while the woman carefully opened the bottle, dripping some of the liquid onto the boy's open wound, so it mingled with the pouring blood.

"Let go of him," Arthur said loudly, coming closer. The woman did not notice. She placed the lid on the bottle, placed the bottle on the platter, and then got to her feet, turning back toward the door.

"What was that?" Arthur called after her. She walked on. Both he and Lancelot moved to stop her from entering the next room. But as they reached the cell's door she turned to face them, her blank eyes meeting theirs dispassionately.

Arthur felt himself being pushed- by shear force- off his feet. He hit the wall powerfully and slid down, his vision swimming. Lancelot was on the opposite side of the room, holding his head tightly.

The woman opened the door once more, walking through.

The boy, still bleeding, rose up to his feet.

"Grandma!" He called, but she'd closed the door, and locked it.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Gaius couldn't bring himself to organize the room.

He was usually an organized man. It was true that his lodgings often seemed preposterously chaotic, but frankly everything had its esteemed place: The bottles on the shelves, the books on various desks and stools, notes scattered all about as he needed them, special ingredients in the drawers. Everything had a location. A purpose. A name.

Now he stood in the middle of the room, gazing around sightlessly.

Everything was on the floor. Shattered glass littered the old stone tiles, which were already covered by the fragments of ripped parchments with stretching lines of black ink and ruined books with their pages torn off, crumbled between the furniture. Gaius didn't know who pulled the curtains over the windows, or who lighted the fire while he's been sleeping nightmarishly in his room, but he imagined it was Gwen, who had only left him when she'd had no other choice.

Gaius closed his eyes painfully. He wasn't sure what was worse: the images of Merlin, his eyes mad with loss and confusion, tearing up the place they both called home or the memory of Percy, doing the same thing all those years ago.

_Percy Gorge._

When he opened his eyes, there was a girl standing in the doorway, letting in the afternoon sun.

"Lady Norane," He whispered, his eyes drinking in the image he thought he'd never again see.

It had to be her. The long blonde hair, the large blue eyes, the small frame and high cheekbones. He couldn't stop looking at her. How long ago was it since he'd seen her dead?

"Are you Gaius?" She asked. Her voice flooded over him like the return of spring. She had been so gracious, so beautiful, and so virtuous. Even though she started out a hardworking servant girl, few months after the king fell in love with her the entire kingdom would have lay down their lives for her, one by one.

"Yes," He answered. The girl nodded, but did not smile. She had a peculiar expression- blank, yet beyond that so much emotion. Gaius remembered her laugh. Her entire body shook when she laughed. And she laughed so often…

Well, that is, before she was dead, alone and filthy on the floor of the darkest dungeon below Camelot.

"Who are you?" he asked, growing morbid. Lady Norane had been one of the greatest things ever to come to the kingdom. Uther had destroyed her.

"You knew my mother," The girl said. "The man who was my father named me Norane after her, when he found me beside her dead body. I am here because I have seen you in a vision. You can cure me of Amaroe's vile experiments. Cure me enough so that I could save your precious Camelot, as I was destined to do."

Gaius fell silent. More memories bombarded him. _Amaroe…_

The girl's eyes gazed into his. "I want you to tell me," She said slowly, her voice high, and clear, and familiar. "I know you know of my past. I need to know. And once I know, I will save this city, which you call home."

He did not ask what was to be saved, and from who. It did not matter. Instead, he motioned for the girl to follow as he pulled up a three-legged chair, which had been fine when he'd left for Jorks, and started telling her the story.

It was the time of the purge. Six years after the death of the queen. All sorcerers were in hiding. Amaroe had been his apprentice then. A young brilliant man with a goal: save the remnants of his destroyed family from the wickedness of magic.

It was also at that time that the king fell in love with the poor servant girl, who had become Camelot's hope and future, filling the morbid streets with her beauty, and her joy.

Gaius looked at the dead woman's daughter. They were remarkably alike. And remarkably different.

She was a servant girl, and the most beautiful woman in the entire city. Her skin was fair, her hair long and light, her eyes large and sky blue. She was the daughter of a known dragon lord, a race which the king did not favor- but Uther, who has been alone for half a dozen years, loved her with his entire heart.

Soon, he revealed her to the townsfolk. The people of Camelot fell in love with Lady Norane's charms and kindness, as did all the servants of the castle, and the visiting merchants who entered thought the city's grand gates. Rumors of the match streamed out of the borders and to the ears of far away lords and kings. No one knew what to make of this new, mysterious woman who had appeared out of nowhere and conquered the king's heart.

She was a simple girl, a few years younger then the king. She did not much enjoy the castle life, and loved to walk the streets of Camelot, dragging the king and his young son after her into the fresh air of the city. It was the first time the people had seen the heir, who had rarely left the castle before, always under his father's over protective watch. The king's fear of sorcerers seemed to diminish around Norane. And the people's fear of him diminished, with it.

The Lady was like a force of good, sweeping Camelot with her gentleness and her love for all things. During the long months during which she lived in the castle, there were no executions.

It was then that the idea of separating magic from its host was first established.

Gaius had loved the girl like a daughter. He had known her father, who in those years had led the dragon lords and fought for their rights. And when one day Uther had called him to his chambers frantically, muttering about an illness which his beloved had caught, he rushed over, fearful and intent.

She lay on the bed, an amused look in her eyes. Uther pulled his physician forward eagerly, and demanded he checked her for any sickness. She was vomiting, he said. And weak. And odd.

Lady Norane was pregnant.

At first, the king was overjoyed. He planned on revealing the good news to the public at the festivals of autumn, when they were happy and well fed, so that they would accept her as a queen despite her common blood and questionable heritage. For of course if she would give him a child, certainly he would ask for her hand in marriage. For weeks Uther demanded Gaius come every day to her side, and assist with her pregnancy.

Until, on the eighth week, the beautiful Norane began showing signs of magic.

It started with a candle's flicker. Then, she moved things with her mind. At first the king tried to ignore it. But soon it became inevitable.

The baby was magical.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Arthur rushed to the door, rattling the knob, and thrusting his fists against it.

"No!"

"I doubt it'll open, my lord."

"Well obviously," Arthur called sarcastically, turning back to Lancelot, who was still pulling himself to his feet. "What the hell is this place?!"

Panting with fury, Arthur's eyes landed on the boy, who was quivering with fear in the corner.

"This is brilliant," He said weakly, and slid down to the floor, his back pressed against the locked door. They were locked in a room underground in a cave full of sorcerers. If they wouldn't kill him, his father surely will.

"We're all gonna die."

"We're not going to die," Lancelot protested, going over to the boy. He sheathed his sword, ignoring Arthur's protests, and lowered himself to eye level with the tiny child.

"There's really no need to be scared," He told the boy, whose large eyes blinked frantically, moving from Arthur to Lancelot to the swords and back. "We're not going to hurt you. Do you have a name?"

The boy breathed in ruggedly. "Roger."

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Roger. My name is Lancelot. This there is a friend of mine. Prince Arthur." Arthur groaned. He let his head bang against the wood, frustrated. Roger gave him a nervous glance.

"What are you doing here, Roger?" Lancelot asked, trying to collect information about where ever it was they were.

The boy did not answer.

"How long have you been here?"

"I dunno," The child said, his words mumbled. "A long time."

"And what is it that you do here?"

No replay.

Sighing, the young man stood, turning to the prince. "Did you try cutting through the wood?"

"No. I _started_ with hitting my head against the wall."

"Right."

Lancelot turned back to the kid. He stared up at him fearfully. With an irritated grown Arthur rose to his feet, coming toward the child with a drawn sword.

"Was that woman your grandmother?"

Petrified, the boy nodded.

"Well, then why'd she stick a knife into you arm?"

The boy's eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head miserably.

"You have a real way with children, sire," Lancelot muttered under his breath, but Arthur heard him, nonetheless.

He sounded just like Merlin.

Arthur's heart began to pound as blood drizzled down the boy's skeletal arm.

"Are you a sorcerer?"

The boy didn't answer. He looked at the floor.

"Hey, listen, if you don't-"

"Sire, have you ever met a kid before?"

Arthur gave Lancelot an odd glare. "A 'kid'? You mean a goat?"

"No, I mean a child," Lancelot rolled his eyes.

"Oh. Well, no. I mean yes, but not- I haven't ever talked… that is-"

Lancelot turned away from him, again lowering himself to the boy's eye level. "So. Roger."

The boy glanced up, his face wet with tears.

"Do you know Amaroe?"

The boy hissed, backing up against the wall.

"I see," Arthur said to Lancelot, turning back to the impassable door. "Thanks for the lesson."

Lancelot ignored him. "Did Amaroe make your grandmother-"

"We were together at first," the boy muttered. "And then they took her away. And when she came back, she didn't- recognize me."

Lancelot nodded. Arthur snorted, placing his sword back into the scabbard. The boy was touching the cut from the knife carefully, his face contorted in pain.

"How often does she cut you?" Lancelot asked, gently.

"Every day," The boy muttered. He gave Lancelot an off glance. "Are you a wizard?"

Lancelot and Arthur exchanged looks. "No," Lancelot said. "But you are, aren't you?"

"Then you don't have magic?" The boy questioned again, seeming confused.

"No."

"And neither does he?" He pointed at Arthur.

"No. Definitely not."

"Then what are you doing here?"

Arthur let go of the door handle he's been studying, and gave the boy a thoughtful look.

"We are looking for a friend of ours," Lancelot said, aware of the prince's eyes eyeing his back.

"And is he a sorcerer?"

There was silence.

"Yes," Prince Arthur said. "We think so."

Lancelot couldn't help the air that escaped involuntarily out of his lungs, and felt his entire body unwind. What did this mean? Had Arthur come to save Merlin, or demand revenge for the months of betrayal and lies?

"What does Amaroe do to sorcerers?" Arthur asked, moving toward the others, staring down at the boy intently. "What's in the bottles?"

"I don't know," Roger muttered, shaking his head. "They make you… different. They made Grandma different. And my dad."

"Your dad?"

"My dad was a sorcerer," The boy said. Then, lowering his eyes, "He died."

Arthur frowned. Lancelot could almost see the wheels turning in his head. Three sorcerers in one family. An acquired craft, or one passed from father to son, such as the color of one's eyes, skin, and hair?

"I'm sorry," Lancelot begun, before Arthur rudely cut him.

"Why?"

The boy raised his large eyes to the prince's intent blue ones.

"He got… lost," He said slowly, hesitantly. "And confused. And then he died."

"_How?_"

"Sire, I think-"

The prince ignored him, getting to his knees in front of the young boy. "How?"

"He jumped," The boy muttered. "Off the mountain. Into the Ork River."

Arthur froze, his expressions changing too fast. Lancelot felt blood drum against his ears. Was that going to happen to Merlin? Was that why the prince seemed so frightened?

Arthur got to his feet again. He did not take his eyes off Roger. "And these… liquids in the bottles," He questioned. "Are they all the same?"

"No," The boy said. "Some of them make you do things you don't want to do. And others make you forget, or lose things, or just… hurt."

"And what about the one Amaroe's giving you?"

"I don't know," the boy whispered. His eyes grew petrified. His voice shook. "I-"

Just then, the door burst open.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Uther could not accept his own blood to be magical- the same magic that killed his first wife, the same that made his son an orphan. Norane had betrayed him. He was convinced the baby was not his own, for never in history was there a magical child in the line of the Pendragons.

Whether the child was his own or if it weren't, Gaius could not know. Nor could he find out. Once it became apparent that the unborn child was, in fact, a sorcerer, the king showed no mercy. He could not kill the woman he so dearly loved, nor could he keep her by his side, knowing of her betrayal. He had her locked up in the deepest, darkest dungeon he could find, and erased all memory of her from the castle, so as to not remind him, or his son, or the people, of her existence.

And she stayed in the dungeons, for sixth months.

On the eighth month of her pregnancy, the dragon lords attacked.

It was a brutal battle, during which all the remnants of the dragon race were wiped out. It was winter, and rain mixed with the blood of the great beasts streamed down the streets of Camelot. Norane's father, the greatest dragon lord the kingdom has ever seen, died. His dragon, the mighty Kilgharrah, was captured by the cold king and imprisoned beneath the castle. Percy Gorge was killed by his own brother. His brother, Amaroe, swore to end magic, and sold his services to the king with the promise to do so. Knights found Lady Norane in the dungeons, her infant daughter in her arms.

"You were giving off to Amaroe," Gaius said. "It was then that he begun his experiments. With the king's help he hid in the high mountains, collecting sorcerers the king could not justify killing- men and women who were captured for saving lives by use of sorcery. He could not bring himself to kill you." He gazed at her as she sat, her back straight, her eyes blind. "You look very much like your mother."

There was a moment of silence. Finnally, she turned her dead eyes to him. "Thank you," She said. And then: "I know you can find me an antidote for the cure. For I know that it has been you who created the cure in the first place."

Gaius lowered his head with pain. "I was. Before I knew what evils it could create."

"If you could give me back my freedom," She said, slowly, staring right into his eyes, "Then I can stop the thousands of death awaiting the people of Camelot."

Again, Gaius did not ask what horror she spoke of.

He stood up, helping her to her feet. Then he turned to the page he had foud a few hours earlier, ripped, with only a few word scribbled on the corner.

"We have a lot of work to do, Lady Norane."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Atora gazed at the sky, her face mildly curious. The dragon's frame was growing larger in the sky. It was enormous, with gray scales and powerful wings.

"It's a trap," Her father said, his words reverberating in her mind as she tried to pull herself back into reality. "It's a trap!" He repeated, louder, as the crowds began to notice the giant, winged lizard as it roared again, flames surging out of its mouth in billowing waves, just like in the pictures of the old, crumbling story books. A woman screamed, and after her dozens followed. The fight they had been watching halted as the two armored men pulled off their helmets, gaping into the heavens with pale faces and fear in their eyes. He father rose to his feet, his small eyes sparkling in the sun's light. His hand was steady as people around him began to flee, back toward the castle, their faces shocked and petrified. He pointed at the king, seated only a few rows away, his face white against his royal red robes.

"He's sat us up!" Her father screamed into the crowd. People glanced at him, and then at King Uther, who gave him a look of horror. "He' gathered us here like cattle so he could rid himself of all those entitled to the thrones of the five kingdoms, so that he could claim them himself!"

The screaming rose in volume and intensity. Atora felt Lora's hand on her shoulder, pulling her so that she would escape.

"He'd been training that dragon for years!" Her father said excitedly. She had never realized how easily he could control a crowd. "I've said so from the start! It's a trap! We were brought here to be slaughtered!"

Gwen was in the process of laundering the bloodied cloths left over after the last round of battles when the screaming started.

She glanced up from the bucket, stunned to see hundreds pouring out of the arena, running madly as a unified mob toward the castle. She was sitting on a short stool at the balcony of Lady Morgana's rooms- the only chambers not to have been volunteered as lodgings for the royal guests. She rose to her feet, looking down at the throng. Women in long, fancy gowns pulled their skirts clumsily as they ran, and men held on to their fluffy hats. She saw children being pushed around by the fleeing hordes, their faces contorted in tears, their mouths open with cries. At the end of the crows were knights, perched on their horses, looking up at the sky with their swords ready and drawn.

Gwen raised her eyes into the afternoon sky, and felt her jaw drop.

It was the dragon. Gwen stumbled back and the bucket fell to its side, spilling the bloodied water onto the previously spotless floor. The water drizzled over the balcony's edge onto the mobs, arousing more hysteria.

Gwen gaped at the flying creature. Its roar vibrated in her mind. The last time this creature had come to Camelot, she almost lost everything that ever meant anything to her. The city where she spent her childhood. Her home. Her friends. Arthur…

People now began entering the castle. They drizzled around and over the many tents and carriage lining the large square, yelling at each other to run, run, run. Gwen swallowed hard, getting to her feet. Her green skirt was red with the water, but there was nothing she could do about that. Instead she headed back, toward the door, passing through her mistress's chambers and into the hall, where other servants had emerged, wide eyed and frightened.

"We need to get medicine and supplies," She told the younger ones, who gaped at her, petrified. As one of the more experienced, approachable maids she was often asked for advice and assistance, and now they looked at her pleadingly. "Go to the great hall. The injured will be brought there."

"'The injured'?" Orano, the stable boy she's sent to Arthur when Merlin first fell ill, asked. He was fifteen and new to Camelot. He had not been there when the dragon first struck, just over a month ago.

"Yes," She said, trying not to show her fear. "The injured."

Just as she spoke a colossal flame of pure fire erupted out of the window by which she stood, engulfing her and Orano along with three other servants in its boiling blaze.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Two men stood by the door.

They were Amaroe's guards, their dark, bold heads reflecting the fire's light. They gazed blankly at the prince and Lancelot, who stood frozen by the boy's side.

"Where's Merlin?" Arthur asked immediately, unsheathing his sword. Lancelot followed suit, positioning himself defensively.

"They won't answer," Roger said from behind them. He moved fearfully back toward his corner, stopping only when his small frame collided with the cold stonewall. "They're like my grandma. Amaroe gave them a potion, too."

Arthur and Lancelot exchanged looks.

"They're very nice, really," the boy muttered. "I met them once, when they weren't effected."

"Brilliant," Arthur said under his breath. "Nice sorcerers that are trying to kill us. Great."

Lancelot opened his mouth to reply, but the two men suddenly moved forward, their giant hands moving upwards in unison. Lancelot felt himself being lifted in the air, his sword still clutched, useless, in his arms.

"This isn't good," he said to Arthur, who was floating helplessly by his side.

"You think?"

Out of nowhere, ropes appeared. At first Arthur tired to cut at them with his sword, but it was pulled out of his arms and cluttered loudly on the floor, from where the smaller of the two men picked it up. Lancelot sheathed his blade quickly as the ropes slithered around his body, snakelike and unrelenting. His arms tied behind his back, his legs stuck together he floated after the prince's equally stiffened frame out of the room and into the hallway.

The door shut behind them.

"Well," Amaroe said, smiling at them from the safe floor. "Hello there."

**And as promised... long!!!**

**What'd you think?**

**(In two weeks is one of the most important tests of my high school career, so the next update might be delayed. Then again, I might need emotional support from reviewers... :-) )**


	13. Chapter 13

_**Can it be?**_

_**Is this really an update?**_

_**After almost three months?**_

_**Certianly not!**_

_**But it is!**_

_**My apology is in the profile. Now, without further ado (since you've waited long enough…)**_

**Chapter Fourteen**

Most everyone had gathered in the hall, shouting like a horde of well-dressed monkeys. At first Lora led her toward them, where her family stood huddled together, her father glaring at Uther with a smile of victory lining his jaw. Atora pulled her back, overpowering the young girl easily. She was not going to be locked in a room with hundreds of other pampered royalty for who knows how long.

"My lady, we have to-"

"I doubt the dragon has come to attack the peasants, Lora," Atora told her, pulling her by the hand toward the stairs. "We should go somewhere where its targets aren't rounded up."

"Targets, my lady?" Lora's voice was shaking. Atora glimpsed her frightened face, and let her cold words fill with sympathy.

"Dragons don't eat humans, Lora," She told her gently, reducing the strength of her hold on the girl's fragile wrist. "They're intelligent creatures. They can even speak. If the dragon has come to Camelot, it certainly has a purpose other then lunch."

"…I thought dragons were extinct, my lady," the girl whispered. Tears dropped from her eyes. Atora pulled her onward, up the stairs, and into an unfamiliar corridor she's never before visited.

"I don't believe men could ever destroy such a powerful species," Atora said. "Their skin cannot be pierced by any manmade weapon. Their flames are hotter then the fires of hell. Their teeth are so sharp, they can break even stone."

Atora glanced back. Lora's eyes were horrified.

"But overall they're very nice," The lady said hurriedly, pulling her maid down another corridor, trying to go as far away from the packed hall as possible.

"How do you know so much about dragons, my lady?" Lora asked, her voice shaking. Tears still poured down her face, and Atora tried not to glare at her exasperatedly and say something rude.

"From story books," she muttered instead, turning another corner. "And… Well, I met someone, once, who knew a lot about dragons."

"How did they know about dragons?"

"He said he just did," Atora mumbled, and then froze, almost falling forward with the force of her stop, gaping at the hall before her.

It was black with ash, the wall torn off, so that the courtyard could be viewed from it, many feet below. On the remains of the charred stone floor was burning furniture, the remnants of what seemed like curtains, and by them…

"I thought you said dragons don't kill humans," Lora managed in a high-pitched whimper, leaning her meager weight on Atora.

"I said they didn't eat them," Atora corrected automatically, before letting go of the girl's hand, walking over carefully toward the bodies littering the floor.

"My lady! Be careful!"

Atora tiptoed around the burnt tiles. They were warm, but the searing warmth had died down under the winter winds. It began to snow, and the droplets entered through the shuttered wall, extinguishing the remains of the flames and evaporating into clouds of vapor when touching the floor.

She couldn't recognize the bodies. There were five, and two she immediately knew as dead. They were both women, one so tiny she must have been younger then Lora. Atora felt tears collect behind her eyes, but she would not let them slide through.

She moved to the rest. There was only one boy, young, with his eyes half open, moaning mutedly on his back. His eyes were blue. They reminded her of the eyes of another, whom she has not seen in almost a year.

"Lora, come here. And take off that apron of yours."

The younger girl whimpered, but obeyed. Atora accepted the cloth, and begun to rip and then tie it around the worse of the boy's wounds. "Check on the others," She told Lora. "And then call for help."

Lora did as she was told, dropping to her knees, shaking, to examine the others. "My lady," she cried hoarsely, pulling her hand quickly away from the body right next to the boy's. "It's… the girl you were talking to…"

"What girl I was talk-"

She looked over at the woman, lying on her stomach with her hands distorted behind her back.

She gasped.

Gwen.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"I must say I'm surprised," Amaroe said, watching as Arthur and Lancelot dangled helplessly in the air above him. "I never imagined you'd go as far as chasing after me. You are searching for your servant, I assume?" The prince did not answer. Amaroe's smile grew. "So am I."

"I know Merlin," Arthur said through clenched teeth. "He's no sorcerer. He's too much of a buffoon."

Amaroe ignored him. He nodded at his men, who raised their arms again, dropping the two hostages on the ground roughly. Lancelot groaned as his head hit the stone.

"Do you like my home?" Amaroe asked, staring at the prince disconcertingly. "Your father was the one who built it. You probably don't remember, you were… seven, eight years of age. It wasn't as large, of course. We've extended it as was necessary."

Arthur shuddered. He thought of the six corridors, each of them endless and full of uncountable doors, behind each of them a prisoner- like Robert, like his grandmother, like Norane.

Like Merlin.

Lancelot stumbled to his feet. He was bleeding from a gash to the head, and still he looked at Amaroe with hate and determination.

"Why did you say you were looking for Merlin?"

Amaroe grinned. "Ah! Excellent question. Your friend's decided to… run," he chuckled, the sound sounding unnatural in his voice. "I doubt he'd get far. He was not in the best of conditions last time I saw him. And beside-"

"What do you mean, 'not the best of conditions'?" Arthur cut him, feeling fear fill his chest. This was his fault. He shouldn't have argued with his father. He shouldn't have let the king win. He shouldn't have let Amaroe take Merlin in the first place. He should have told Merlin that the cure- the poison- was in the water. He should have warned him. He should have stopped Gaius from leaving in the first place. Gaius would have known what to do.

He couldn't get the image of Merlin, chained and broken, being led away in a cage, out of Camelot.

Amaroe did not answer the question, but smiled. Arthur glimpsed Lancelot, white faced beside him. Merlin was just a servant to him, but to Lancelot, he was a true friend.

_He's your friend, too,_ a voice said in his head.

Yes. He was.

"What are you holding us here for?" Lancelot demanded, wrestling against the ropes chaining his hands behind his back. "You can't hold the prince of Camelot against his will. If the king built this place, it belongs to Arthur!"

_Arthur. _Not sire, not my lord. Who _was_ Lancelot, anyway?

"Can't I," Amaroe whispered, so they could barely hear him. He signaled his men, and the chains around the prisoners' arms extended, connecting to the wall behind them, pulling the two back. Arthur strained against the invisible force, but he felt himself stumbling backwards inelegantly. Lancelot's chains chimed loudly.

"Go get the potion from my study" Amaroe told his men. They turned, walking slowly in the direction of the room with the stairwell from which Arthur and Lancelot had entered. Amaroe remained motionless before his two chained prisoners, who glanced at each other uncertainly unable to move.

"When my father hears about this-"

"He won't," Amaroe dismissed Arthur's words passively. "Why would anyone suspect you died here, of all places?"

There was silence.

Lancelot cleared his throat. "Died?"

"Well of course," Amaroe replied, as if shocked by their surprise.

"Why would you kill me?" Arthur demanded, head pounding.

"Well, to stop you from becoming king, of course," Amaroe said. "You have radical views of sorcery, Prince Arthur. You do not understand that sorcery is evil and wicked, and that anyone that has ever used it cannot be considered human, or even beast- they're monsters. Creatures that should be destroyed. And I fear that if you were to become king, you'd destroy everything your father has worked so hard to buil-"

A large stick of wood arrived out of nowhere, smacking Amaroe on the back of the head, sending the man crumbling to the floor, dazed and hardly conscience.

"…Merlin?"


	14. Chapter 14

_**To those reading this after the computer meltdown that led to my hiatus, this is the SECOND chapter I've updated since I've stopped, so if you haven't read Chapter Fourteen yet, go do that now!**_

**Chapter fifteen:**

"Go get help, Lora!" Atora commanded, and the servant rose to her feet, sprinting back toward the hall from which they've just escaped. Atora raced to her friend's side, feeling her wounded neck for a pulse.

"Come-on, Gwen…"

She felt it, weak, and present. She breathed a sigh of relief. Behind her, the boy began shifting slowly in place. He groaned again. He was gonna be alright.

Atora pulled a lace out of her hair, and tore off the bottom of her skirt. She began tying them around Gwen's injuries, feeling the tears surging, disobedient, down her face.

"You cannot befriend a person and then die on them," She whispered, wiping the salty drops. Someone had told her that sentence before. It seemed such a long time ago…

_You cannot make me love you and then die on me._

Her hands worked methodically, running over the burnt cloth, the scorched skin. "Do you remember the boy I told you about?" She asked in a whisper, her voice barely carrying the distance to the older girl's unconscious ears. She couldn't see what she was doing. Tears filled her vision, and she brushed them away. "He asked me to marry him once." She giggled. It came out hysterical, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. She had not known Gwen for long, but the servant already knew more about her then anyone else ever did. Atora remembered her motherly hazel eyes, and wished her friend would look at her again, and tell her everything was going to be all right. "He took me to a tall hill, at sunset, at spring, when the flowers were blooming and the birds were singing to each other before night fell. He wouldn't tell me why, but I followed, anyway. There were butterflies and bees and the sky was so colorful it looked like a mixture of water and fire. We sat down on the soft, tall grass between the lilacs and the dandelions, eating spring fruit and laughing. He couldn't stop looking at me, and I couldn't stop looking at him. I've never loved another person as much in my life. The crickets were starting to wake, and as the sun disappeared over the cliff edge he kissed me, and when I opened my eyes there was a necklace in my lap, made of a simple black ribbon with the most beautiful, worthless stone at the end." She felt the older girl dying under her fingers, and tightened the makeshift bandages as much as she could, tearing more scraps off her dress, her hands red with blood. "It was huge. Red, and orange, and yellow- like the sun, like the sky, like fire. He put it over my head and all I could do was gape at him. He smiled and kissed me and it was the best moment of my life. And then he asked me, in that sweet, gentle voice of his- if I would-"

"My lady?"

"Are they alright?"

"Move back, lady, let me see her…"

People swarmed in, their faces covered in ash. The dragon must have reached the hall. Atora gazed through her tears at Lora, small, fragile Lora, who stood shaking near the wall, too scared to cry.

"Will they be ok?" Atora asked, but the healers who had come were too busy to answer. "Will she be ok?" She asked, more quietly, feeling her chest tightening and her jaw set, blinking against the on slaughter of tears, unable to look away.

"Your father is searching for you, my lady," Lora told her, her voice uneven. "Everyone has moved underground. King Uther has sent knights to vanquish the dragon. It's destroying the city," She finished, her voice growing deathly quiet. The two girls looked one at the other, Atora's hazel eyes meeting Lora's blue ones.

"What of the people?" Atora asked. "The city folk?"

Lora gave her a helpless look.

"I don't know."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Merlin had spent what felt like years trying to find his way through the labyrinth of doors and corridors and lit torches.

He stuck to the walls, glanced carefully around corners, remained as quiet as his numb leg and hand would allow so as to be able to hear anyone coming up behind him. He limped pathetically down the stretching halls, arriving nowhere, certain he was walking in circles, the pain all over his body increasing as the long minutes passed and the spell wore off.

He had no energy to reinforce it.

On the third time he's walked by the door with the scorch marks, he decided to stop wondering aimlessly and figure out a plan.

It would have certainly helped, if he could remember being brought to the cell in the first place.

But he couldn't. He couldn't remember anything. Nothing good, and nothing bad. And whenever he'd try to think about it, his brow would fill with cold sweat, his hands would shake, his lungs refuse to function. And he'd be overflowed with a terrible, terrible fear that made his blood run cold and his hair to stand.

The last thing he did remember was taking a break from helping the prince with his preparations. Had Arthur's birthday past already? Did he even notice Merlin was gone?

"_-no sorcerer. He's too much of a buffoon._"

Merlin froze, half a step from the next corridor.

Arthur.

"_Why did you say you were looking for Merlin?_"

Lancelot?

Feeling his feet screaming in protest, he leaned heavily on the wall, trying to calm his heaving chest.

"_I doubt he'd get far. He was not in the best of conditions, last time I saw him._"

_Amaroe. _

Merlin allowed his body to drop slowly to the floor, resting his cheek on the cold stone. He was boiling hot, though the nearest torch was a few feet away. How did Arthur get there? How did _Lancelot? _Wasn't he supposed to be somewhere away from all this mess, from Camelot?

"_What are you holding us here for?_"

Merlin glanced at his leg. "_Holding_"…

He could probably stand on it for a few more minutes before it fell off.

He pulled himself up using a nearby doorknob, distractedly wondering where the door led. He tried not to hiss as his bad foot hit the wall and pain shoot through it. His spell wouldn't last much longer. Clearly the one he'd cast on Amaroe's guards was long gone. The men where now headed in the other direction, after a potion of some sort. Merlin swallowed, forcing himself into a standing position. He stumbled toward the nearest torch, pulling it with difficulty off the wall and killing the flame on the stone beneath his feet.

It wasn't _too_ heavy to lift.

Merlin used it as a cane as he walked toward the corner, glancing behind it as carefully as he could to the conversation being held there.

Arthur and Lancelot were tied a few feet away, facing him, their hands behind their backs and the ropes connected to the other wall. Amaroe stood alone before them, his back to Merlin.

He turned to hide around the corner again.

"_-sorcery is evil and wicked, and that anyone that has ever used it cannot be considered human, or even beast- they're monsters creatures that should be destroyed._"

Merlin positioned his feet as best he could, strengthening his hold on the wood. He was really starting to dislike Amaroe.

"_I fear that if you were to become king, you'd destroy everything your father has worked so hard to buil-_"

"Excuse me," He said, watching with pleasure as Amaroe turned, surprised, in his direction.

Then he jumped forward, propelling the club as powerfully as he could against Amaroe's smirking head.

Merlin landed on his side by the force of the blow, his foot having collapsed midway though. He couldn't help feeling a sick satisfaction as Amaroe's body crumbled to the floor and blood begun springing out of the back of his scalp.

"…Merlin?" Arthur managed, his mouth ajar.

Merlin used his good hand to wrestle his shattered body up.

"Sire," He greeted Arthur, rushing toward the two tied prisoners, thankful for the adrenalin in his blood "I suppose you came to my rescue."

"We did," Arthur said, staring at him. "But… you're-"

"Well, thank you," Merlin said. "Really. Thanks a lot."

"You were…"

"Lancelot? How did you get here?"

Lancelot gaped, as Merlin started working on the ties behind his back. "I- I thought you were-lost?…!"

"Merlin! Behind you!"

Merlin glanced back, and then ducked, feeling every inch of his body object the idea. The rock that had been thrust his way hit the opposite wall loudly, leaving marks on the stone. Amaroe's two guards stood at the entrance to the corridor, using their magic to pull chunks of rock from the walls.

He cursed.

"Merlin, did you just curse?" Arthur asked, slightly overwhelmed. Last time he's seen Merlin, the boy could barely utter a sound, never mind curse.

"Yeah, well, I'm not in the best of moods at the moment, sire," Merlin replied, glanced fearfully at the guards, before racing back to the ties, straining to untie them clumsily with one hand.

"Watch out!"

Another boulder was sent toward him, and Merlin dropped to the floor to avoid being hit. The guards were walking slowly down the hall, toward them, as Amaroe begun to steer. It almost seemed as if without his instructions, they weren't too sure what to do…

"Ah… Merlin?" Lancelot asked, straining to look back at where Merlin was busy with the ropes around his arms.

"Hmm?"

"Why the hell are you using one hand?" He hissed, trying to avoid the shreds of exploding stone.

Arthur turned his gaze back to the others, and frowned, noticing Merlin's fumbling hand.

"I…" Merlin coughed, his hand flimsy. "…am challenging myself to work with my right arm in stressful situations."

"What?" Arthur demanded.

"This certainly counts as a stressful situation," Lancelot agreed weakly, his eyes following the nearing guards.

Arthur cursed loudly, watching Amaroe rise on both elbows, looking around in dazed confusion.

"Merlin, whatever you're doing, hurry up! He's waking," Arthur hissed at both of them, trying to free his arms himself.

Once he's realized what was going on, Amaroe turned to his guards, outraged. "What are you waiting for?" He screamed at them. "Capture him!"

The two paused, and then begun hurrying toward the scene, throwing boulders as they went.

"Is your hand hurt?" Lancelot asked Merlin diplomatically.

"Something like tha-" Merlin, busy with the ties, felt a particularly large rock hit his side and tumbled to the floor senselessly.

"Merlin! Merlin?"

He pushed himself upwards, gasping, eyes tearing. "I'm… fine, just… technical... difficulties."

Lancelot took a large breath, glancing from the panicked Arthur to Merlin, wrestling his broken body up. They were all going to die, unless…

"…Merlin, Arthur knows."

"Knows what?" Merlin forced himself to his knees, again attacking the ties around Lancelot's arms.

"About you," Lancelot glanced at the prince, who suddenly grew still.

"What about me?"

"Your…"

"What?"

"Magic."

There was silence. Arthur stared at Merlin, waiting fearfully for the boy's reaction.

The guards had reached them, and now stood side by side, their arms raised in the air. Lancelot felt his heart pounding in his chest.

"What about magic?" Merlin said finally, his voice too level. He didn't look up from the ties.

Lancelot frowned, glancing at Arthur.

"Arthur knows that you're a wizard," He said. "Because you were affected by the cure. And the cure only affected sorcerers."

"So?"

Amaroe stood shakily, the smile returning to his face. Above their heads, his men were creating a magical cage. The shadows of the bars grew and lengthened by the torchlight.

"So he knows about your magic."

"Who's magic?"

"Yours!"

Arthur caught Merlin's eye, looking at him seriously. All sorts of thoughts flew though his head, about his father, and his mother, about Morgana and Amaroe and the bloody cure that messed everything up. He was going to be twenty-three years old in a few hours. Was it already time to decide what kind of king he'd be in who knows how many years?

"I know you're a sorcerer, Merlin," He said slowly, balancing each word carefully, not quite believing they're coming out of his mouth. "…It's alright."

Merlin stopped trying to untie Lancelot. He met Arthur's gaze, his eyes uncertain and, strangely, relieved.

"You know I'm a sorcerer."

"Yes."

There was silence. Lancelot gazed from one man to the other, his heart pounding frantic and loud.

"Well why didn't you _say_ so?" Merlin asked.

Arthur remained motionless as his friend took a step back, lifting his arm as to be level with the ties, and whispered a nonsense word, his eyes flashing a strange, indescribable color.

The ropes dropped to the floor.

Merlin looked at Arthur again, once again hesitant. The prince swallowed, his head clouded. He felt like he was floating. Everything he knew about Merlin was turning out to be a lie.

"Well go on," He said huskily, turning to allow the raven-haired boy better excess to his tied hands.

When he turned back, rubbing his wounded wrists, Merlin was smiling.

It was at this point that the cage dropped.

"Now the other two," Amaroe commanded, and the guards proceeded to push Lancelot and Arthur back against the wall with a powerful wind, leaving Merlin fallen in the cage, fresh out of adrenaline. He clutched at the bars, pulling himself up. His two companions were dazed by the wall, blinking uncertainly.

He was captured again.

Strange thought filled his mind. Memories from what seemed like centuries ago. He watched his hand as it held the bars, and suddenly saw chains around it, and felt the moving of a carriage beneath him. White faces stared at him with fear but he could not yell out for help. All he could do was think of the terrible blackness devouring him from the inside, Destroying his very self, the very thing that made him him-

_Join me._

Amaroe?

"Merlin! Help!"

Merlin's head snapped up, and he was once again in the stone corridor, facing Arthur and Lancelot who were magically lifted in the air, Arthur holding on to the sword he'd somehow managed to get hold of away from the guards, straining to break free.

What _was_ that?

He didn't have time to ponder it. The two guards stood behind him, arms high as they lifted the prince and Lancelot. Amaroe's smirk was growing by the second, and Merlin couldn't bear watching it one moment more.

He'd never been in so much pain in his life. The numbing spell has almost completely worn off, and he found himself hissing with every movement. Still he forced his hand off the bars, glaring at Amaroe hatefully.

_Join me._

_No._

The older man was staring right at him. What the hell was going on? Merlin gritted his teeth against a gray fog overwhelming his mind.

_Why don't you calm down and sit?_

He felt his breath slow, his heart measure. There was no pain as his feet folded beneath him. He sat still staring at Amaroe with hate.

_Aren't my potions brilliant?_

"Merlin!" Lancelot called, helpless against the guard's magic.

_No!_

Merlin rose up to his feet. All his pain disappeared, and for a moment it was just him, against Amaroe. The older man raised his eyebrows in surprise and appreciation. Merlin wanted him dead.

_Dead, Merlin? How extreme._

_Shut up!_

He felt his eyes seethe with power he did not know he possessed. He was going to kill him. He was going to kill them all. He felt the words reach his lips, sweet and venomous. He didn't need a book of spells to know what he had to do. Amaroe's taken so much from him. He deserved to die.

He deserved to die.

"Merlin! What are you waiting for?"

_What am I waiting for?_

Amaroe was still smirking at him. His black eyes were filled with curiosity. Merlin was just an experiment to him. A lab rat. Something to be studied and dissected.

_Well, Merlin?_

_I will not be what you want me to be._

_And what's that?_

Merlin made the magic within him calm, pushing it back inside himself.

_A murderer._

And with that he raised his arms, letting the charm break through. Amaroe was pushed back against the wall, and crumbling rocks fell on top of him, covering him with debris. Almost simultaneously the cage was blown away, landing crushingly on top f the two guards, who collapsed under the force. Arthur and Lancelot dropped to the ground, scrambling to their feet as the entire building begun to shake.

"Convenient," Lancelot muttered, reaching over to grab his sword off the floor.

"How did you-" Arthur started, but then stopped himself. The doors all over the corridor opened with a loud thud and people- hundred of skeletal, wide-eyed people- streamed out.

"We need to go," The prince said, checking on the unconscious Amaroe. "Before one of them-"

There was a loud rumble, and the rocks that had fallen over the cage were pushed off powerfully.

One of the guards rose up from beneath them, blood dripping from his opened skull.

"Run," He said, staring straight at Arthur.

They ran.


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Sixteen:

They've reached the stairwell before Merlin's eyes turned to their normal color.

He collapsed on the fourth step, breathing hard.

"What'd wrong?" Arthur asked, pulling him up by the left arm, glancing fearfully around at the shaking walls and the hundreds of people running past them toward freedom.

"I can't," His servant replied, straining to get the words out. Arthur glanced down at him. He hadn't noticed before how pale his friend was, how dried blood caked almost every inch of his body.

"Sire!" Lancelot called, pulling Arthur's arm away from Merlin's hand. Arthur glanced at it, shocked. It was shuttered and broken, deformed beyond recognition.

Merlin was gaping for breath, helpless on the floor by their feet.

"You were fine five minutes ago," Arthur protested, helping Lancelot pull the feeble boy up to a standing position.

"I cast a numbing spell."

Spells. Sorcerer. Right.

"Why didn't you just heal yourself?"

"It doesn't work like that," Merlin managed. They positioned him between them, trying unsuccessfully not to touch anything too painful. Arthur felt Merlin's heart pounding as they started climbing up the stairwell once more, pushing against the crowds of freed wizards. His friend coughed, and blood drizzled out and onto Arthur's armor.

"So how does that numbing spell work, exactly?" Lancelot asked, fear lingering on his voice.

"Dunno," Merlin said sluggishly, his eyes unfocused. " 't was in Gaius's spell book."

"Gaius's spell book," Arthur repeated. "Brilliant."

He met Lancelot frightened eyes, worry overpowering him. What would he do if Merlin died? It would be his fault. He was the one to tell his father about Merlin. If he'd only known that Merlin was a sorcerer, he never would have…

Why didn't Merlin tell him? What would he have done if he had? Arthur could see the end of the stair well up a head. Soon they'd reach the cave, and from there, the frozen mountaintop. How long have they been under the mountain? How would they get back without their horses? What had Norane said when she took the horses to god knows where?

"Hold on, Merlin," Lancelot murmured.

Arthur feared he was the only one who heard it.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Gaius knew the formula.

At first, standing before the lines of herbs, sleeves pulled back with a knife in one hand, he wasn't sure he'd be able to remember it. He never wanted to. On the day that Percy, Perry's father and Amaroe's brother killed himself, Gaius threw away every scrap of parchment he could find of the formula for the cure, every experiment, every note and scribble. It was Amaroe, alone in his lonesome cottage in the mountains, who managed to rewrite the whole thing. It took him a longer time, certainly- Gaius never agreed to help him, not with herbs or remedies they'd discovered together, all those years ago. He recreated the whole thing from scratch, not even with Gaius's experience at hand. The only thing he had to work with was his own recollections, and the one formula he'd managed to scribble before Gaius burned them all, as his brother lay dead on the floor beside him and the city was alight with dragons' flames.

Gaius tried to forget the formula, forget the ingredients, forget the amounts. He thought he had.

But he hadn't.

He'd been working since the evening before. Remembering.

While he worked, Norane sat silently on one of the chairs.

"Tell me about Amaroe," She said finally.

Gaius paused, and glanced back at her, his face thoughtful.

"Why would you want to know about him?" He asked, stirring his latest attempt slowly counterclockwise.

The young girl didn't answer at first. Her face was entombed, and Gaius wondered why she never learned to show emotion. Her large blue eyes stared straight forward into the bubbling brew, clouded.

"Because," She said, and he could hear traces of hesitance in her words, "I have never met anyone but him, before this winter. He knows everything there is to know about me," Her voice was bitter. "And yet I know nothing at all about him."

She gazed at Gaius, right into his eyes. He felt his breath falter. Beyond her skeletal, pale look, she was even more beautiful then her mother.

"Very well," He said, and started.

It was just over eighteen years ago that the two young orphaned men came trudging into his home, one of them carrying an infant girl. They were brothers, best friends, and the only remains of their ruined village. Them, and the ash.

Those were the days of the purge. It has been a number of years since the birth of Arthur, the heir to the throne, and the death of his mother. King Uther was still in mourning. And as he grieved his dead wife, the people grieved their parents, children, neighbors, and friends, wizards that have committed no crime and harmed no body, who were massacred by the hundreds by Camelot's ruthless knights. They had been brought in cages into the city and hanged there, their faces covered by old sacks. Gaius remembered the sacks most. When death was certain they were pulled off the victim's head and thrown in the castle storage rooms. Hundreds and thousands of them, in looming piles mounting wickedly under the city.

He was the one to check the punished. As their bodies hung limply in the air he touched their often-bloodied wrists, checking for a pulse.

Some he managed to save, by lying, and pulling the bodies away from the piles of corpses. Most he couldn't.

Gaius was a younger man at the time, but he still realized that Uther's distorted, grieving mind would never stop chasing after the people he mistakenly believed murdered his wife. The king was going to rid the kingdom of sorcery, or die trying.

Uther was a good king. He did not over tax the peasants, and protected them with all his army's might. He was just and fair. He was levelheaded and believed in peace.

If he was overthrown, who knew who would take his place?

Gaius had always believed in Uther's rule over Camelot.

And yet, when the two men stepped into his chambers all those years ago, after a rebelling sorcerer named Grae had killed their entire world, he let them in.

Their names were Amaroe and Percy Gorge. Thin, their cloths degraded to an unimaginable level, their ribs showing as they walked. He gave them some broth, and wine to warm their freezing insides. The child they placed on Gaius's own bed, and she slept there soundly.

The older of the two, Percy, was so pale and skeletal he seemed more like a ghost then a man. He said nothing, allowing his younger brother to speak, as the young man chronicled their journey in the physician's ears. When he had finished, the old man permitted the two stay in his home, and gave them blankets and places to rest.

When Amaroe was asleep, Percy came to Gaius.

The two-year-old baby cooed softly, and the man's eyes rested on her with love, and fear. Gaius waited for him to speak, growing worried.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse and broken.

"My wife had died in moments, and for that I am grateful," He said. He did not look at Gaius, but instead at his young daughter, smiling in her sleep. "I… When the wizards came- it was so… unspeakable."

Gaius nodded. Hate reflected in the man's eyes, a course loathing Gaius could not help but understand. The rebelling sorcerers were ruthless, for they were fighting for their right to exist.

Tears slid slowly down Percy's cheeks. Gaius was surprised when the man's pale hazel brown eyes focused on his own intensely.

"I was born with magic," He said. Gaius remained silent, though his heart began to thump within his chest. Not of fear for himself, of course, but for fear of this man, and his small, fragile family. The little girl sighed. "I was born with magic. A lot of magic. And I want- I want-" Percy was breathing harshly, the tears flooding his face and dropping onto the floor below. Gaius could not take his sight of the man's broken, lost eyes. "I want you to take it away."

There was silence.

Gaius found himself frowning, and he glanced briefly at the sleeping infant on the bed, and Amaroe, who was snoring on the sofa beyond the kitchen. "You want… to die?"

"No!" Percy shook his head vehemently. "No. I will not leave my little girl an orphan. I will not- I…

"I cannot look at myself," He whispered. "I can't look at my brother in the eyes. I've killed his parents. I've killed his best friend, and the girl he loved. I killed…"

"_You_ killed?"

"My kind has killed," Percy closed his eyes, but the tears kept on coming. "If I am not a murderer yet, I will soon become one. I've never met a sorcerer who was… who was _good_. I've never met any magical being that did not use their abilities for wicked evils. Magic corrupts, and I want nothing more to do with it."

"But, certainly-"

"You are an esteemed physician," The man opened his eyes again, now pleading. "We've heard of you. You have brought science to Camelot. You have brought knowledge. You have brought-"

"Knowledge corrupts, as well," Gaius cut in. The man froze, blinking at him, and then, in desperation, grabbed his shoulders, gazing beseechingly into Gaius's eyes.

"Don't let my little girl be raised by a monster," He whispered, so that Gaius could hardly hear him at all. "Don't make me live with this burden. You can take it away. I know you can take it away. You can try on me. I don't care what happens. I'd rather be dead then be like those other men. I'd rather root in hell then hurt the people I love ever again."

"But you haven't-" Gaius insisted, but Percy's eyes only grew furious.

"I cannot stand it!" He called, waking his daughter. She began to cry softly. Amaroe turned in his sleep. "I…" Percy went over, picking her up. "Sh… Perry. Sh…"

He looked back at Gaius. Gaius closed his eyes, thinking.

"Please," Percy said, and the old physician sighed heavily. "Please…"

That was how he first thought of it. Curing magic.

In the following two years, it had become an obsession. As executions grew in number and frequency at Uther's court, Gaius found himself more and more engaged in the art of potion making and chemistry. As the king's knights gathered fleeing sorcerers into the city, Gaius created long, complicated formulas of unusual ingredients and principals and gave them to Percy to try. Amaroe helped him. The boy proved to be sharp of mind, and innovative. Percy did not want to tell his brother of his curse, his magic- and Amaroe didn't seem to realize. But in hindsight, Gaius thought that Amaroe must have known. He'd had to. He just didn't want to accept it.

Together they created ways to make wizards ill, and ways to make wizards healthy. Ways to make wizards joyous, and ways to make them depressed. They even found a way to make a wizard fall in love.

But they could never get rid of magic.

Around a year after they had began, on Prince Arthur's sixth birthday, King Uther fell in love.

Lady Norane was a servant girl, and the daughter of the most powerful dragon lord anyone has ever seen. Lord Toralo had the power to not only tame a dragon- but to ride one, across the endless skies.

Within a year, she was pregnant.

When the child turned out to be magical, Lady Norane was locked in a dark dungeon beneath the castle, and the executions- that had subsided for the months during which she lived in the castle- started again. King Uther's love for her became hate for all of her kind- now also including the dragon lords, which before he had thinly accepted.

Norane's father came to Gaius one dark night when the moon was full.

It has been a few months with no word from his daughter. The aging man, a little older the Gaius, had many sons- but his youngest and only daughter was his true joy and pride. Gaius welcomed him into the house with joy and trepidation. Toralo was a dangerous man. They'd met years before, when Gaius was just studying the art of potion-making and medicine.

"We will destroy this city," Toralo said then, accepting a flask of wine. Gaius glanced at the people seated around the table- his two apprentices, Amaroe and Percy, and Percy's young daughter Perry, playing with an old, torn doll. "We will bring the castle down, and Uther's court with it."

"You can't do that," Amaroe said. Gaius gave him a warning look, but the boy paid no notice. "There are thousands of people in the city. You can't condemn them all to death over your daughter!"

"King Uther is a murderer," The dragon lord said. "He must be stopped. I am only telling you this, Gaius, for the sake of our friendship. I do not ask your permission, or your help. I simply warn you to leave here, as fast and as quietly as you can."

Percy had been sitting quietly while the others were discussing warfare and politics for the better part of an hour. Now he spoke, not meeting the older man's gaze.

"Please, sir," His voice was quiet, almost muted, and his eyes had a strangeness within them, from the many experiments conducted on him. "Gaius and my brother are close to a solution. Give us a few more months, and we will have your daughter released, and your grandson a simple, non-magical second heir to the entire kingdom."

Toralo put down his wine, his unusual black eyes stunned.

"_Non-magical_?" the dragon-lord demanded, gazing from Percy, to Gaius, and back again. "What is he talking about, Gaius?"

Gaius glanced briefly at the toddler by his side. "It is a solution with the smallest amount of dead."

"You want to wipe away sorcery!" Toralo called, outraged. "To just… pull one of your silly potions and poison my brothers with its vile content-!"

"It's the right thing to do," Amaroe said coldly. "Sorcery must be stopped."

Gaius gazed at the young man.

"You have gone mad, Gaius," The dragon lord said, getting up. "I suppose it was to be expected, with your pathetic attempt to not use your natural gifts. But it is your right, of course, and I will not try to stop you." His fingers dug into the wood of the table, and he glared at Gaius, disbelieving.

"I am grateful for that," Gaius said. The two younger men stared at him. He'd never told them of his own magical abilities.

Toralo glanced down at the girl, then at Percy, and Gaius saw that he knew what they both were.

"Well. Careful what you wish for, boy," He told Amaroe, finished his wine, and left.

OOOOOOOOOOOOO

They gave Percy the perfected cure the following day.

It worked perfectly. All his powers were gone.

But Percy was gone with them.

"You mean gone like the wizard Merlin was gone," Norane asked, as Gaius fell silent.

"Yes," Gaius said. "Exactly like that."

He cut some more herbs, and placed them into the brew. It turned a sickening green color, and he placed it to boil over the hearth.

"That was the day my grandfather attacked Camelot."

"Yes."

"The day I was born. When my mom died."

"At child birth. It's not uncommon."

"But he lost," Norane said, ignoring his last word. He glanced at her. She'd moved to stand behind him, and stirred as he pulled more leaves out of an unbroken jar.

"Lord Toralo?" She made no response. "Yes. He did. He died on his dragon's back, hit by an arrow. The battle took hours. Many men died. Women and children, too."

"And Percy Gorge."

Gaius froze, before proceeding to place the leaves gently, one by one, over the potion.

"Yes. He hung himself with a horse's reins. I think he thought it was the right thing to do, like his brothers, who were executed by hanging."

"It was not the right thing to do," She said, slowing her stirring.

"No." He said. "It wasn't."

"What happened next?"

Gaius did not answer, placing a steady finger into the liquid. It was boiling hot.

"It's ready," He said, and she closed her eyes, inhaling.

He picked up a bowl from the floor, and sunk it into the thick liquid. She took it, breathing in the fumes.

"Don't drink it yet," He warned. "Let it cool."

She nodded. "Thank you."

He sat across from her, gazing at the vapors disappearing in the cold air.

"When Percy died, Amaroe realized what his brother was," He said, remembering the body as it hung limply from the wooden ceiling rods. "I've told him the testing was on a peasant in the castle. When he realized…" He paused. "He became… Angry."

"More angry then when Grae murdered his entire village?"

"Much more angry," Gaius said. "He believed Percy had betrayed him. That he had gone and obtained magic in some way. Amaroe never agreed to believe that sorcerers were born with their magic. If his brother was magical, he must have done something terrible to get his powers- possibly something related to Grae, and the destruction of their old home."

"So he went to the king." Norane said.

"Yes. He went. He offered his services. And Uther- well, he was destroyed by your mother's death. He did love her, somewhere, deep in his distorted heart. And he loved you," He added, but Norane's mouth curled into a cynical smile. She closed her eyes, and drunk deeply, gulping the substance in large swallows.

"The king didn't know what to do with you. You were so small, I remember. And there came Amaroe, offering a cure…" Norane emptied the cup, and placed it carefully on the floor before her. She sat cross-legged on the ground, her eyes half open. "I gave Perry to a woman I knew, who was moving away, far from the city. She had a young son around her age, and I thought they could grow up together. Tolaro's dragon, Kilgharrah, was the last standing, the most powerful and majestic beast I've ever seen. It's been locked in the dungeons ever since. The last of its species. Alone. Forever."

He fell silent. Norane licked her lips, looking thoughtfully out the window.

"But he was released."

"Yes," Gaius said, surprised. "Just over a month ago. Merlin did it, I believe."

"So this Kilghattah. He must like Merlin quite a lot."

"I suppose you could say that," Gaius muttered. "Perhaps."

"I would think so," She said, and straightened her gaze to him. "The castle's been under attack for a few hours, now."

Gaius froze.

Norane stood; marching confidently over to the window, and pushing the curtains open for the first time in days.

Gaius gaped, stunned, at the castle, so close, smoke and flames mingling in the sky above it.

Now he could hear them, too. People screaming, terrorized, in the near by distance.

"Everyone were at that silly sword fight," Norane said, staring out into the deserted streets. "This place is rather secluded."

"We must stop it," Gaius said immediately, standing up. He stood there, bewildered, not knowing what to do.

Norane smiled at him, her eyebrows raised.

"What do you think we've been doing here, all this time?" She asked, and her eyes flashed brilliantly.

**So...**

**What did you guys think of the new Merlin episode?**

**I was pissed! How could they stop there, in the very middle!**


	16. Chapter 16

**Cured**

**_By TheAlmightySun_**

**Chapter Seventeen**

The entire mountain seemed to be crumbling around them.

It wasn't an earth quake, but something worse. Arthur knew, somewhere inside him, that Merlin did this- somehow, using magic few could even dream about. His silly, unbalanced servant was the cause for the walls around them shaking, the stairs moving beneath their feet, the ceiling collapsing on top of them and large chunks of rock and ice falling off it and onto the ground far below. Merlin, who was now motionless between himself and Lancelot, his feeble weight hardly slowing them as they fled, surrounded by panicked skeletons that had once been people but were turned, here in this horrid place, into something else.

They avoided each other's eyes, concentrating on the task at hand- maneuvering through the hysteric crowd without dropping their friend. They'd given up on trying to not hurt him, to not to touch the distorted hand, or the broken leg- there was simply no time for it and they were too crowded by everyone else. Up ahead he could almost see sunlight streaming down into cave. It was his birthday.

And then they were outside, and the air was freezing and snow covered everything. Sorcerers streamed out of the large doors and disappeared among the trees and bushes, and the carriage was gone since someone has had the sense to use it for their escape. Arthur glanced over at Lancelot, who was looking at him, clueless. They had no horses, it would likely start snowing soon, the river was freezing cold and they had to get back to Camelot, quickly, before Uther could get furious enough to decapitate his own son and everyone involved in his disappearance.

"Where's Amaroa?" Lancelot yelled over the noise of the running people. Arthur frowned and turned back to the cave they'd just vacated, hidden beneath the beautiful house his father had built.

"Must be in there," He said, feeling oddly satisfied. Nothing was coming out of that ruin alive. Amaora would be buried within it, still breathing, and even if the falling debris didn't kill him, he'd surely starve to death before managing escape.

They propped Merlin up higher between them and trudged on toward the river. What had Norane said? How were they supposed to get down the mountain, back to the city?

"Sire!" Lancelot said excitedly, and pointed at the bushes up ahead.

Arthur frowned, blinking against the rising sun to make sure he was seeing what he thought he was.

"It's a raft," He said finally, as they stopped at the edge of the water and looked down, where a small raft made of wood floated innocently, hitting the river bank time and again as the water streamed powerfully around it.

"It's a raft." Lancelot agreed. Arthur looked at him, bewildered.

"What's a raft doing here?"

"I don't know."

They blinked down once again.

"Should we use the raft?" Lancelot asked, and Arthur glanced back, where the remaining prisoners were coming out of the cave.

"We should use the raft." He said, and they put Merlin down on the snow next to them, reaching out to grab the thing.

"Do you think Norane got it here?" Lancelot wondered.

"Seems likely. She said we'd get down again by the river."

There was movement behind them, and when they turned Merlin's confused blue eyes were staring at them weakly.

"Good morning," Lancelot said, and Arthur turned his eyes away. He didn't know how he felt about everything yet. Frankly, Merlin unconscious and nonresponsive was a lot easier to deal with then the powerful sorcerer he suddenly was.

"What day is it?" Merlin asked, as if this had just occurred to him.

"My birthday," Arthur said tensely, and Merlin's eyes bulged.

"I don't- how-?" He looked up at Lancelot helplessly, and the man shrugged.

"Amaroa's cure had you pretty messed up, I heard," He said in way of explanation, but Merlin only grew paler, and glanced quickly in Arthur's direction.

Feeling the tension building to ridiculous proportions, Arthur chuckled nervously.

"So," he muttered, when the unnatural laugh began to creep him out.

"So," Merlin repeated, studying the prince's face intently.

"You're a sorcerer."

There was a moment of tense silence, before Merlin glanced up at the sky thoughtfully and sighed. "You know," he mused, studying the swirling storm clouds up above, "You'd think being a power hungry sorcerer would be better than a power-hungry king. But no. They get all the girls _and_ all the glory."

Arthur glanced at him with a weak smile. It was still Merlin.

Only not.

Damn it.

"Alright," He said, sounding odd in his own ears. "Can you get on the raft?"

"Sure," Merlin looked at the unsteady contraption doubtfully. "Just give me a few centuries, and I'll inch my way right on it."

Arthur rolled his eyes before he remembered that things were different now, and then his face became very red. Curses flew around in his mind but he paid them no notice.

"Either you get on, or I drag you on," He said commandingly, and Merlin muttered darkly and familiarly under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I said you're an egoistic prat."

"Come again?"

"You're a charming and charismatic worthy heir to the throne, sire."

"I thought that's what you said."

Hissing and flinching Merlin edged his way onto the raft, with the others' help. Icy cold water splashed loudly around them, soaking their cloths and hair.

"It's cold," Lancelot commented, and Arthur glanced at him cynically.

"Is it really? A river at the top of a snow cupped mountain in the middle of winter? Cold, you say?"

Together they pushed the raft off shore and into the water, and then jumped on quickly. Inwardly Arthur wondered how it hadn't flipped when they landed on it- it wasn't very large or very steady- but his gaze landed on Merlin's fading golden eyes, and he swallowed. How did he not notice that before?

"Ready?" Lancelot was saying. He held on to the rope that kept the raft away from the currents, and now held his sword over it, ready to cut.

"No," Merlin said, and the rope gave out with a loud snap.

For a moment, they remained as they were, still in the rushing water.

And then the current caught them, and they held on for dear life.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Atora didn't follow the healers as they led Gwen and the rest away, nor did she follow Lora as she strained to convince her to go down to the dungeons where everyone else was hiding. Instead, she found herself once again in the arena where hours ago she sat and waited out the pointlessly torturous sword tournament.

It was deserted. Shields were left strewn about, as were flowery umbrellas and fans. The breeches were scorched. In the distance, she could hear the dragon roaring as it massacred the people in the town.

"_How do you know so much about dragons?" _she asked once.

"_I don't know. I dream about them sometimes." _He answered, grinning at her from over the baskets of corn they were bringing to the market to sell. "_They keep calling my name. Over and over again."_

"_What do they want?" _she asked, only so that she could hear his voice.

"_I don't know," _he said. "_I never follow. I'm fine right here."_

Wings flapped powerfully around her, and her hair whipped forward over her face in waves of gold. She heard a grunt as it settled in disarray around her shoulders, and turned around slowly, wondering why her heart wasn't quickening and why she felt to fear.

There was the dragon, giant and darkly scaled, his intelligent eyes gazing at her calculatingly.

"Are you going to kill me?" She asked, because it did not move.

"No," He said, and his voice filled her mind, though his lips remained motionless. "I do not believe I will."

"Why not? You've killed others," She said bitterly. He gazed at her for a long time, and then his mouth curved with a scaly smile.

"They were not like you," He said.

"What about me?"

"You are like Prince Arthur," He said. "You were created out of magic."

"I doubt that very much," She said, but the dragon only laughed, and the sound of it shook the entire arena.

Then he flapped his wings open once more, and released a blaze of fire into the cool morning air, leaping again into the sky. She could have sworn he looked back at her a moment more before flying back toward the castle, his fire growing larger and larger the closer he got.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The doll's left arm had been torn off years ago.

She looked down at the rugged thing, its once blue skirt brown with filth and age, torn in every which way, the once yellow strands of hair coming off in large chunks. But she loved it. She carried it around everywhere.

There was another roar from the window, and she heard her baby brother whimper by her mother's breast. He was very small. Almost as small as the doll. He had a small, mushy bold head and startled green eyes that were now filled with distress. Her mother rocked him gently, glancing at the rest of her children as they all cuddled in the closet.

It was her, the baby, the doll, and her older brother, who was six and bore an expression of determination. When she looked at him, knowing tears slid down her face, knowing her fingers were shaking, he smiled encouragingly, so she wouldn't be afraid.

There was a dragon in the city.

The stench of smoke filled her nose, and she burrowed her face into the doll's familiar scent. Her mother made cloths. She was very good at sewing and stitching things together. All the girl could think about was how she was missing her sewing lesson, and how was she going to learn a craft this way, with dragons messing up the study schedule?

She coughed, her throat burning. This wasn't the comfortable smoke that came out of the fireplace. It was sharp, churning, and it brought more tears to her eyes. Her brother was pulling at her to get up and follow Mother, who was up already and rushing to get out, because the one room they'd made into their home was burning, along with all the cloths her mother was going to sell tomorrow, along with the food and the socks, and the pretty cloth fairy she'd made last winter, all on her own. Run, he said, so she did, clutching the doll to her chest. Last time the dragon came, her father never came home, and her mom started crying all the time, and the little baby would screech loudly every night, and no one would come to calm it. The girl thought that if her doll ever started crying like that, her dad would surely come back. He cared about the doll. He was the one who gave it to her.

The streets were filled with grey, and she couldn't see anything. Her brother was still pulling, and his hand over hers hurt. There was yelling and screaming, people panicking in their haste to escape, and after a while her mother's screams for them to follow vanished amongst the crowds and they were alone, running in a random direction and trying not to be stepped on.

People kept bumping into them, their large legs taller than her, and when she looked up she saw their eyes large and hysteric, and their voices were high, and her brother stayed quiet and pulled her forward, his tanned hand over her white wrist. And then the doll was gone.

"Wait," She said, and stopped, turning around.

"No! Come on," He said, pulling her harder, hurting her.

"Stop! Stop it, stop it! I have to-"

"Come on! We can get you a new doll!"

"I don't want a new doll! I want-"

"No! Come back! Where are you going?" She had broken loose, but the doll was far behind and people where now running toward her, and she was four, and short, and frightened.

Someone stumbled over her and she fell, and then feet, large, booted feet were over her, tripping over her, stepping over her small hands and feet. She screamed, and the doll was nowhere to be seen, and then her brother was on top of her, and his six year old body was the one to suffer the stumps and the boots and the stampeding hordes, and his eyes stared down at her and all she could do was cry for her doll.

And then the people were done, all gone, and only smoke filled the streets, thick smoke, that made her eyes burn and she coughed and cried, and pulled herself from underneath him, locating the doll a few feet away, stranded and ruined on the dirt.

She ran and stumbled to pick it up, and pulled the yellow hairs out of its face. It was full of dirt and mud, but she didn't care. She hugged it to her chest once more, taking comfort in its familiarity.

Then she turned. They had to find their mother.

She ran back to her brother, who was still on the ground, trying to protect her from the crowds.

"Come on," She said, pulling at his hand. "We need to find Mommy."

She sat next to his head, and watched something red dripping out of it.

"Come on Leo," She said again, pulling at his hair, like she always did when he ignored her. "I found Dolly. We can go now.

"Leo?"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The Ork River splashed and surged around them. The small raft was a lot less steady then it had first seemed, and none of them had considered it very balanced to begin with. The wood was rough and edgy, cutting into the skin of Arthur's palm cruelly, but he didn't dream of letting go. He was at the back, his hair and armor quickly soaking in the freezing water, with Lancelot up front and Merlin between them, his eyes blinking upwards in exhaustion and pain.

Gaius can fix him, Arthur knew. Gaius can fix anyone.

The river turned sharply, and his palm tightened over the wood. This wasn't the sort of travel he was used to, with the drops and the small waterfalls and the jugged twists and turns of the water as it coursed its way roughly between the forests of the mountains. As they passed they glimpsed villages, small children playing in streams, fishermen, and women with large baskets collecting plants and fresh water. Arthur has never been in this side of the kingdom, though it was so close to Camelot. He always found himself at the borders, armored for battle against the forces threatening his father's rule. Maybe it was time to travel the area for a while.

As the river coursed they gained more and more momentum. How long have they been holding on to the raft, he didn't know- it seemed like hours, and yet the sun was only just rising. On horseback it would have taken at least a day of riding. Maybe this was Norane's purpose- to get them back to the city as quickly as-

The raft tipped over the edge of a hidden drop, falling down lower and lower before splashing once more upon the Ork's water, disposing of its inhabitants in the process. Arthur gasped as he was engulfed in water and kicked vigorously upwards, toward the surface, feeling the cold water seeping into his cloths. Currents and turbulences caught him and he fought against them as they swirled him here and there powerfully, pushing his body against rocks in the river and ice that has been broken off at the mountain top and floated downward alongside them. He felt sharp pain in his side and gasped, allowing the meager amount of air still held in his lungs to escape. He felt himself being propelled lower and lower, until his hands groped the sand of the river bottom, where the currents were more timid and less violent.

There was a bright light. Arthur knew it from somewhere. He had seen it before, in a cave, lighting his way to safety…

His lungs filled with air, and in a split second he repositioned his legs, and pushed himself up off the ground as hard as he could. He shot upwards, cutting through the water with his arms, not allowing his mind to get foggy though blackness was playing at the edges of his vision. He did not escape Amaroa's caves only to die by a stupid current.

And then there was noise. His head broke through the surface and he inhaled, trying to keep aloft. The sun shone over the blue sky and he found a log to hold on to, trying to calm his gasping breath.

He'd traveled far down river. He was starting to recognize the river bank. The village coming up was just an hour's horse ride away from the gates of Camelot. They were close to home.

"My lord!" He heard, and turned, spotting Lancelot's relieved face. He had grabbed on to what looked like the remains of the raft, and was also panting heavily. "You're alright!"

"Yes," Arthur replied, and then frowned. "Where's Merlin?"

Lancelot gazed at him, shaking his head. "I don't-"

Arthur didn't let him finish. He took a large breath and sunk down once again under the water, keeping one hand on the wooden log. Clouds of sand obscured his vision and he squinted against them, mind filled with thoughts.

Merlin is injured. Even if he weren't, did he even know how to swim? Were there any lakes or rivers next to Ealdor? How was his untrained, untalented servant supposed to brave the strong currents of the Ork?

And then the golden light again, engulfing him in its glow, so that he was lifted higher and higher and breathed fresh air once more.

"You're both blind," A voice said, and Arthur turned, relief filling every inch of him. Merlin was sitting at the river edge, smirking at him weakly, and he could almost have seemed fine if it weren't for the pain lining his face and the frightening paleness of his skin.

"How did you-" Arthur started, but then shook his head. "Never mind."

He rowed his way to solid land, finding the currents a lot more manageable with the strange light surrounding him. His heart was beating loudly in his ears. He tried not to think about how very wrong this felt, using magic.

Lancelot made it up also, and they shivered in the cool wind for a short while, looking at each other thoughtfully.

"The city's that way," Lancelot said finally, and Arthur nodded.

"There's a village a few minutes walking," He said, pointing higher up the mountain. "We can get horses there, make it to Camelot before the morning ends. I'll go, you two wait here," He said, starting to walk in that direction.

"Sire?" He heard Merlin's voice behind him.

"What?"

"There's… the city. I mean, Camelot."

"What about it, Merlin?" Arthur said, exasperated.

"It's… there's smoke," Merlin finished, and the two others turned quickly, squinting against the sun.

A large tower of black smoke billowed above the treetops, sinister and dark.

**I hope you enjoyed that!**

**Thank you so much to anyone who reviews, and especailly people who review earlier chapters... if you have any criticism about the writing, the plot, the characters or anything at all that you find less/more interesting, please let me know! I love getting advice and always try to use it... so... :-)**

**The next update would be in two weeks, because I'm going to Germany... (A hundred million smilie faces inserted here) I'll tell you all about it when I get back.**

**(The second episode was so cute. There were a lot more Arthur/Merlin bickering moments. I love those two. :-) )**


	17. Chapter 17

**Hey!**

**Sure has been awhile!**

**I'm very very very sorry it's been so long, but it's not my fault! It's the school's fault! They're awful people! And senior year is ridiculously tough!**

**Anyway, on with the stoy... (Watch out for Author's Note at the bottom!)**

Norane knew what was to happen.

She always knew what was to happen.

It was true that Seers were magical, but it was not the kind of magic Amaroa fought against. The cure did not affect her Sight. Nor did it affect her heritance.

She was the sister of a prince. The daughter of a king. The granddaughter of the greatest dragon lord the world has ever seen.

She was Norane.

And she didn't need Giaus's antidote.

She knew what was to happen.

She'd always known.

Norane stepped out of the old physician's lodgings, and saw the streets around her. It has been years since she could truly see with her eyes. She didn't remember the last image the blue orbs transmitted. For all her life, she's seen the world through her Sight. Through her magic.

Amaroa could not get rid of her Sight, even if he did get rid of her magic.

She had seen the dragon attacking Camelot in a dream, before she ever met the wizard Merlin, before she ever saw the sun.

She had seen herself stepping up to it as it was about to kill her father, had seen its nostrils flare with loathing, had heard his words and his anger. He had come because the magical force that was Merlin had been extinguished. The dragon assumed this meant that the wizard had died without having accomplished his destiny.

This was not true. The Wizard had lived, and he was accomplishing his destiny right at those moments. Now he should be at the Ork river, and the poisonous water should be splashing around him, again entering his body, again taking away the magic that made him who he was, while the prince and the knight remained oblivious as people without Sight often were.

But it did not matter. The Wizard's destiny was to prove to the prince that magic was not wicked, and he had done that already.

He was disposable.

She had seen it.

He would die.

But not yet. No. Before, he would be seen by the dragon, and the dragon would leave. She would be the one to show him, with her Sight, and with her powers as a dragon lord. The last dragon lord, for when the Wizard would be dead, she would be the only one left.

She has seen her brother grieve his friend.

She has seen him murdering their father as retribution, and taking the throne.

She has seen him becoming king: the most beloved, well loved king Camelot has ever known.

She has seen magic flourishing once more in the kingdom.

This was how things had to be.

She had no regrets.

Norane breathed in deeply, and then began her march up to the castle.

She had seen herself stopping the dragon.

How long did the Wizard have left, before her actions would kill him?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Atora stood at the arena, motionless.

Around her was silence. Before she has heard the screams of the frightened town folk, but the noise was no more. They had grown silent with fear, while in the castle the nobles sat in hiding and the dragon circled around the high towers, roaring his fury and his pain.

He had said that she was born out of magic.

She breathed in the cool winter air. Spring was just around the corner, but before it set the last of winter would be more terrible then the entire season before it. There was a great storm brewing in the heavens, and she didn't know if it was the dragon who caused it, or maybe it was the events that had recently occurred, or maybe it was just the way it was.

The latter did not seem very likely.

It had been spring when he had taken her to the cliff top with the grass and the dandelions and tied that beautiful rock over her neck.

Early evening. Those bandits came, and they did not know that it was so very worthless.

She had not been the same since that day. She tried to tell herself that she was, but it was a lie. She hardly remembered anything- all she could recall were them touching her, telling her to come with them, and him saying that they need leave her alone, that they have the stone they'd come for and that they should leave. She didn't know when they started running, her clutching the necklace in her arm, or when his magic erupted in the form of falling trees and stumbling horses, or when they caught them between heaven and earth at the edge of the cliff, the rocky ground far, far below, or when one of them grabbed him and fought to get him down while the other was grabbing for her, or when she fell, down, lower and lower to the rocks-

_You can't make me love you and then die on me._

She woke up and the bandits were on top of her. She was alive. Perfectly fine. Her arm was held tightly in a fist, but when she opened it, the rock was gone, and instead her body was buzzing with a strange energy, and an unfamiliar mark appeared in her palm, jugged and uncertain, darker than the rest of the skin and in the shape of a heart.

_You can't make me love you and then die on me._

She was different then. She knew it. The bandits recognized her- maybe he had told them who she was. They brought her to her father and there she stayed, waiting for him, wondering where he had gone.

_You can't make me love you and then die on me._

Did she? Did she die?

Did he bring her back?

Was she reborn from his magic?

Atora glanced at the sky above her, covered with massing black clouds, and felt the heat of the spreading fire.

Her eyes flashed golden. The clouds parted, and she saw a scrap of blue sky.

Merlin was not alright.

He pretended to be, every time Lancelot or Arthur glanced back at him with concern, and made sure to say something to calm them, but the truth was, he was a loose stone away from sliding off the horse's back.

It was a fine horse. Normally Merlin loved riding horses. There had been two in Ealdor, usually used for long travel and to carry goods from the farming village to the larger town where their produce were sold. But now it seemed like the animal was trying to torture him. Every step brought waves of agony running through him, every whiney made his head spin. He didn't reveal to the other two how much magic he was using just to sit up. He knew that below his slowly drying cloths his body was covered with bruises, that he was bleeding heavily and that he certainly could not last much longer. He needed Gaius. He needed help.

Arthur glanced back at him again. Merlin smiled.

They had been riding for almost an hour, the three horses running through the well traveled road easily, hardly breaking a sweat. Merlin did though. He gritted his teeth and tried not to flinch too much. The towers of smoke still trailed higher and higher in the sky from the city, and they had no time for pain. They had to see what had happened. Dozens of royal courts all in one burning place was never a good thing, was it?

"Do you think it's just the feast?" Lancelot said hopefully, but Arthur didn't reply. His face was foreboding. Something sinister was occurring in Camelot, and he was not there to stop it.

They could see the end of their track. One more turn, and the gates of the city would rise above them, glistening in the late morning sun.

"Lancelot, take Merlin to Gaius," Arthur instructed, his expression intent. "I'll go straight to my father. Follow me when you're finished, it seems that we may need all the help we can-"

A deafening roar filled the calm forest.

"Was that a dragon?" Lancelot demanded, incredulous.

Arthur's face whitened, and he glanced back at Merlin.

"It's back," He whispered, and pushed his horse forward, until the gates were in sight.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"What is the situation?" The king asked, looking at his first knight with urgency.

"My lord, the beast is where it has been," Gor said, bowing low at Uther's feet. "Circling the castle. All the royal families are accounted for, apart from King Boon's niece, the lady Atora, and sir Ackles of the Roater Court, who has taken a team of his own men to battle the dragon and has not been seen since. Three of our knights are dead and seven more are gravely injured, but the rest stand by for instructions from my liege. The town people-"

"And Prince Arthur?" Uther demanded, cutting in.

"He does not seem to be in Camelot, my lord."

"Find him," The king commanded. "And find more men. We need to kill this thing once and for all."

"My lord, last time the prince had done something. Perhaps if my lord knows what it was-"

"Well if you find him, he'll tell you, won't he?"

Gor lowered his gaze. "Yes, of course, sire."

"Bring me Gaius," The king commanded. "He shall care for the injured. And then go. I don't care what you do; you need to destroy that beast!"

"Yes, my lord.

The knight stood, and turned to go. Uther stopped him at the door of the war room, where he stood before a table covered by maps of the city.

"Bring the captains here," He said, more calmly. "We need to form a plan. And get me an outline of what's been burnt down so far."

Gor bowed, and left. Uther sighed, turning back to the maps.

So much for the great celebrations.

"My lord!"

He looked up, angry to be bothered. A man stood at the doors, allowing light to stream into the dark room. Uther frowned at him. He was a commoner, dressed in old rugs and unshaven.

"My lord, I come from the village Toan, up the mountain-"

"How did you get in here?" The king demanded. "We are in the midst of a battle, you can't-"

"My lord, wizards!"

Uther froze.

"What?"

"Hundreds of them!" The man said excitedly. "All over the mountains! Ones who have been captured before-"

"How do you know this?"

"I saw them- they travel at great speed, my lord, far faster than men do-"

"Sire!" Uther turned his gaze to the new interruption. "The southern walls are being hit! We must evacuate the castle!"

"Wizards!" The commoner was saying. "Evil, despicable- we've started capturing them, of course, my king, how much is it per head nowadays?"

"The entire southern wall is destroyed. We must move the royal courts somewhere safe, perhaps the-"

Another man entered through the doors. "A girl is here to see you, my lord, says she must speak to the king, says she can stop the dragon, she does-"

"-Flying, I tell you! Flying on brooms, their hair alight-"

"My lord, we need instructions, we must-"

Just then, the well decorated windows of the wall behind the king exploded with a burst of flames.

Uther was thrown forward, into the now speechless trio. He turned around as sun rays filled the hall.

There stood the dragon, fangs out, nostrils flaring, gazing at him with unadulterated hate.

"Uther," It said, and the king's blood ran cold.

He gulped.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Norane knew the dragon would make its way to the king.

He would break through the southern walls, the ones nearest to the forest. Then he would make his way through the scrambling knights in the training fields, burn the gardens that led to the castle, boil the water in the pond. He would fly toward the place where he knew his target would be, cowering in fear from it. Her father. The king. Uther Pendragon.

She was almost sorry that she was to save him.

But she had to. She had seen it.

When she heard the walls crumbling down, when she felt the heat of the flames on her skin, she stepped forward, clasped the large handles of the ancient oak door, and entered.

It was there, just as she knew it would be. Giant. Furious. Hurt. For all his hate of Uther's court, the dragon loved the Wizard. He loved him for having spared him when he could have killed him with a flick of a wrist. He loved him for being so ready to accept his destiny. For doing what was right. For whining a lot.

It had hurt him to think the Wizard dead.

"Uther," it said with detestation. Norane looked on with interest. She heard the men in front of her yell and scramble away with terror. She heard people behind her- royals, recently escaped from the dungeons- running here and there, stopping in shock and awe to stare at this creature, whose kind was once so common in the sky, that none of them had seen in decades.

"Leave here," The king said. He must have thought himself very brave, but to her he looked like an old, grey man worth little to her or others. His time was over. It was almost a shame to let him live past this day.

The dragon laughed, and the sound was cold and bitter. The king stood up higher.

"What is it that you want?" He demanded.

"Your reign has been too long, old man," The dragon whispered, but everyone in the entire city must have heard. "You've killed all of my kind, all the humans who were friends to my kind, and those who possessed such as our abilities- of magic- you've captured and hanged. Your hands are dripping the blood of thousands, and yet you stand before me, in your rich garments and your golden crown."

"What do you want?" Uther repeated, louder, but his voice broke in the middle. Norane gazed forward detachedly. She's only once before seen her father, when Amaroa was at her side and the cure was still strong in her veins. He had seemed much more threatening then, much more dangerous.

"What do I want?" the dragon drawled, and his face contorted in what might have been either joy or fury. "I want you dead."

And he lowered his gallant head down toward the fibble, helpless king, teeth out, eyes yellow with a sadistic hunger-

"If only I could allow you to do that," She said, stepping forward elegantly.

The great beast froze, turning its enormous head to her with fascination.

"A dragon lord," He said in wonder. "You lot just keep popping up, don't you?"

"Indeed," She muttered, like she knew she would. "But you must not kill this man today."

"No?"

"No."

"And why is that?"

"Because," She said, remembering the words as she spoke them. "He is my father."

Silence grew behind her as her words filtered through the growing crowds.

"You are a sorceress," Uther said, disgusted. "No child of the Pendragon Court has ever been-"

"You have no love for your father," The dragon said, ignoring the muttering king. "Why would you have me spare him?"

"The wizard whom you seek is still alive," She said, the words as well rehearsed as her tall, gallant stance and the piercing look in her sky blue eyes. "He will breathe long enough to commence his destiny, and his nearing death will complete it. If the King dies, his son's fate would, also."

"I know the wizard of which you speak," The dragon boomed. "He is gone. I have sensed his magic dying. It is gone."

"_Was _gone," She corrected. "It has returned, now."

She watched, along with the royal courts frozen behind her turned back, as the enormous beast stretched his neck higher, towards the sky, listening.

When he lowered his head once again, she knew he had found the Wizard's magic again, as it rode quickly down the mountain.

"_Your grandfather had been my master. My dragon lord. My best friend_," He told her, and only she had heard. "_And this man had killed him._"

"He will be stopped. And Arthur would be the one to do it."

**If I started submitting again, would anyone read this?**

**?**

**And regarding this chapter: I know we're all more interested in Arthur, Merlin, and Lancelot then Camelot at this very minute, but my stories are rarely from one point of view because I love making life complicated. Next chapter the two story lines would finally collide, and then we'll be Merlining all day long! **

**I'm going to be rewriting parts of the story, but no one needs to read it again from the top. It'll only be very minor changes. If you get alerts, make sure they're of the chapter you're looking for!**

**-AMS**


	18. Chapter 18

**In the vain attempt to avoid my looming finals… another chapter!**

He was in the city.

The gates had lain wide open for him to pass, the streets deserted as he rode fiercely toward the castle. Conflicting feelings welled up within him. He should not have left for Merlin. But he had to. Though if he hadn't, Merlin would probably have escaped himself. He was a sorceress. He could have found his own way out.

But what if he couldn't?

The city was under attack, and Arthur was not there to guard it. Where was his father? Was Gwen alright? Were his knights, who he has known and trained for years? Had they all died protecting the city that he was meant to protect?

When he arrived at the castle, he stopped, gazing, speechless, at the havoc.

The carriages of the royals were turned on their sides. Goods from trading wagons littered the deserted streets. The gallant flags his father had ordered be hanged were ripped and seared with fire. The western wall had fallen.

All was silent.

He pulled the horse's reins, maybe too roughly, and urged it on hurriedly. What was this?

Voices began streaming toward him from the large gaping hole that used to be the War Chamber. People screaming, children crying, women weeping. These would be the royals. No peasants would spare running time on pointless tears.

And then something else.

Wings.

But it couldn't be. There were no more dragons.

Were there?

"My lord!" A call came from behind him. He stooped the horse, looking back distractedly. A girl stood there, in bloodied robes that must have once been beautiful. Her hair was in disarray and her face hidden by ash and tear marks. She gazed at him steadily as he passed.

"Atora," He said, registering who it was. She looked nothing like herself. "I'm sorry, I have to-"

"It is the dragon you have chased away, back again," She said, quickly. "Your father and the knights- they're in the War Room. So is the dragon. But you cannot kill it."

"Why not?" He demanded, disoriented.

"You… just can't."

He paused a moment, and then nodded. There was no time for conversation. "Thank you. You should go hide."

"I think I'm safe."

He sensed that she was.

Then he pulled the reins again, pulled his sword to his side, and rushed into battle.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"You can go ahead, Lancelot," Merlin said, sitting as high up in his chair as he could manage. "Truly. I'm perfectly fine."

Lancelot made a disbelieving grant, but Merlin could see him gazing at the smoke with eagerness. He did not want to be here. He wanted to be there. With Gwen.

Merlin closed his eyes.

"I can get to Giaus myself, Lancelot. They might need you."

His friend looked at him, indecisive.

"Do you know what happened?" He asked, uncertain.

"No," Merlin said, just as a roar pierced the silence.

"What was that?" Lancelot demanded, raising up in his saddle to try and get a better look.

Merlin gulped.

"It's a dragon."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"And how do I know that this is not some sort of… trick, young Sear?" The dragon asked her, fire in his breath.

"I tell no lies," She said. It gazed at her, its large eyes thoughtful.

"Enough of this," A voice said from behind it. She did not need to look to see that Uther had awoken from his stupor. His face was red with anger. "Knights! Rid our city of this beast!"

She had known he would say that.

Still. He was quite daft for a king.

"Stop!" A voice called from behind her, and everyone gasped. Prince Arthur, atop a white stallion with his sword swinging high. In her mind's eye she saw his blue eyes glistening under the slim rays of sunshine as he gaped at Kilggarah, recognizing him for the dragon he had been said to vanquish.

The knights stood in place, their swords drawn, unsure what to do. Norane knew the dragon was looming on in interest. None of their swords could harm it. Only magic could.

"Stop," Arthur said again. "Retreat. Everyone, we must retreat!"

Arthur was not like their father, Norane knew. That is why he should be king. Now. Why he would be.

Already stony looks were passed between father and son. The prince had seen Amaroa's prisons, had seen the evil within them, of which his father knew, which he supported and of which he took pride. When the Wizard would die, her brother would take the throne. Uther would be killed. Peace will reign. It must be so.

"What are you waiting for!" The king demanded. "Arthur, go with the royal courts, escort them out of the city! Knights- fight!"

"They'll die! They can't beat the dragon! Can't you remember the last time-"

"FIGHT!"

There would be no use. The knights raised their weapons. In her mind, she heard the dragon laugh, as it soared to the air, roaring powerfully as arrows bounced off its thick scales.

_This city will burn for the blood of Emyrs,_ He whispered to her, like she knew he would. _And I will join my brethren within it._

_I wish this was true,_ she replied, as cries of war filled the castle and the dragon's fire swirled around her, to the screams of the royals. _But Destiny will take a different course._

And it did.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

They had raced the last few hundred meters to the city, disregarding Arthur's orders to take it slow, for Merlin's sake. Lancelot felt nothing as the horse ran underneath him. _Gwen. Gwen…_

He glanced behind him. Merlin was as pale as a ghost. He could tell his friend was using magic by the way his eyes turned golden, and by the way he no longer leaned pathetically against the horse, as he had all the way down the mountain. But he couldn't last this much longer. Was this the right thing to do? He wondered. Take his injured friend from one battle field to another?

_But… Gwen._

The city gates loomed before them. He could see the ash in the air, smell the smoke of burning houses. The stench of scorched meat. There will be no celebrations today.

Lancelot turned the corner at the gates, into the city, kicking his horse into a run. They sprinted through the deserted streets.

"Where is it? The dragon?" He asked, as they came to a stop in the middle of the destroyed courtyard.

"I'm guessing… there," Merlin said, pointing toward a sudden outburst of fire.

They ran.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

And then she saw him.

Atora looked, locked in a trance. She was standing behind the prince, hidden from the fire by a turned over wagon. That was him. Her wizard. Merlin.

Merlin.

He hadn't seen her. He came galloping into the battle, on the back of a sweaty black mare who's rein flew powerfully around her. He looked, horror struck, at the destruction around. His eyes met hers for a fraction of a second. But he did not recognize her at all.

_How could that be?_

He was off the horse, leaning on it feebly. Something was very wrong with him, but she could not think of this now. He was here, with her, at last-

"Kaliggara!"

She heard the voice, and saw his lips move, but it was not his. It was foreign, but also familiar. Commanding. Furious.

_You can't make me love you and then die on me._

"Kaliggara! I COMMAND YOU TO STOP!"

_How do you know so much about dragons?_

"I HAVE ONCE BEFORE TOLD YOU TO LEAVE THIS PLACE AND NEVER RETURN. DO AS I BADE YOU. BE GONE!"

_Born out of magic._

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Yes, 'Norane thought. Yes. This is how it should be.

_You are alive,_ the dragon mused, flapping its wings, staring down to earth, at the unsteady wizard.

_Yes, _She heard Merlin think. _It appears so._

_But you are different._

_No. I'm fine._

_Yes,_ the dragon breathed to the air, and fire bloomed in the sky. _Be careful, Merlin. Beware of the insanities of Kings and Mortals._

"LEAVE!" The Wizard called, commanding, and the dragon roared angrily. It could not disobey. But it wanted to.

For he know saw what was to come, too.

_Not everything is as it seems, _she heard it whisper, before taking off into the sky.

Norane froze.

That was the first time she's heard that.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Merlin felt everyone's eyes upon him.

This certainly has never happened before.

"It's gone," Someone said, and murmus filled the castle. "It's gone!"

Roars of joy.

But the king still gaped at him. As did Arthur. This was not good.

The roars died down. Uther took a step forward.

"Who did that?" Arthur called suddenly, into the crowd.

The king's head snapped to his son immediately.

"What?"

"Who did that?" Arthur repeated, searching the faces of the guests. "There are no dragonlords in Camelot. Who's voice was that, who vanquished the dragon?"

There was silence. The king frowned, and then glanced slowly at Merlin once more, noting his exhausted state, the way he slumped in his saddle.

"Who ever had ridden the city of the vile beast will be greatly rewarded!" Arthur called, speaking louder. Fires still burned in the castle. Smoke filled the air, obscuring individual people from sight.

What was he doing?

"I had!" A voice called from behind. Merlin turned. Everyone had. A man stood there, also upon a horse, wearing full armor with the emblem of the Roater Court. "I am the Dragon Lord!"

All eyes landed on him. He sat tall in his saddle, pulling off his helmet, allowing billows of golden curls to fall around his ears. Feminine mumurs filled the area.

"Sir Ackles of the House of Roater," Arthur said, nodding at the man and smiling. "You vanquished the dragon?"

"Yes, My Prince."

There was silence. The King frowned, his expression skeptical.

"Camelot is forever in your debt," Arthur said.

The silence filled with a roar of joy, clapping, crowds amassing to prize the young hero. Uther gazed from Merlin to Akles, uncertain and suspicious.

"Where is my servant?" Arthur called then, over the noise of the crowds. "That idiotic buffon. I told him to get my horse hours ago!"

Merlin gazed at him, quite shocked.

Arthur looked back.

"Oh where, where could he be?" He called into the crowds, giving Merlin a meaningful look.

"Oh- here, my Lord!" Merlin jerked upwards, lifting his hand stupidly. He slid of the horse. "Here! Your mare is… is here."

He looked up. The black horse looked nothing like Arthur's white stallion.

"That is not my horse," Arthur said, again, too loudly, as he came toward Merlin. "You can't be _that_ stupid! Come on! I must get rid of these ashen robes. We've got a celebration to get to!"

He shoved Merlin forward by the neck, more gentle than usual. Still, Merlin didn't need to fake the wince of pain.

"Walk quickly," Arthur whispered in his ear. "And don't look back."

But he did. The king gazed after them, eyes narrowed.

"You do realize there'll be no celebration, Arthur."

"Shut up and walk. We've got some things to talk about."

He motioned for Lancelot, who had been standing behind the entire time, gaping. His first time seeing a dragon. Poor guy.

"Go find Gaius," Arthur muttered in his ear. "Meet us in my chambers."

"If they aren't burnt down."

"Yes. Now go."

He was gone. Merlin swallowed.

"Come-on," Arthur said, turning toward the stairs.

"Wait!" a voice called from behind them.

Arthur's eyes were about ready to pop out of his head as he turned exasperated, to the newest interruption.

"WHAT?"

There was silence. Merlin's head was beating powerfully. He couldn't help thinking.

"If you want to say something, say it," Arthur demanded of the newcomer, gritting his teeth.

Merlin glanced back. He was so tired. All he wanted to do was sleep forever. And then there was Arthur, who deserved answers, who just saved Merlin's secret, who somehow accepted all of this without comment, not yet at least-

His eyes fell on the girl who had stopped them.

His heart stopped.

She was just as beautiful as he remembered her.

But the last time he had seen her, he'd brought her back from the dead.

"Alright then," The prince muttered, and turned back to his speedy march.

Merlin looked at her for a second more.

Then he followed.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Girls were stupid. That's the only conclusion. Stupid and daft.

Arthur stomped as he walked, fuming. Nothing made sense. Not the cave full of tortured people his father had paid to build, not the dragon who had appeared out of nowhere and destroyed half the city, not the hundreds of royals who just had to be here, now, right now, when everything was going wrong. And Atora, being all strange, and then Norane girl- his sister?- and Merlin. Bloody Merlin. A sorcerer, and a dragon lord, and maybe even a bloody unicorn in disguise, for all he knew about his supposed… friend.

Oh, and that. Being friends with Merlin. There was that, too.

"Are you coming?" He demanded, turning back toward his servant.

He staggered back, for the first time getting a truly good look at Merlin. He was hardly standing up, pale and sweaty, heaving heavily. His eyes were a strange color. He had seen that color before, in Amaroa's caves, but now it was dulled and sickly.

"Hey," He said, as Merlin swayed in place and his eyes rolled up. "Merlin!"

He caught him before he fell. Merlin groaned, his eyes now completely blue once again. He looked like he was about to be sick.

"Comeon," Arthur muttered, half carrying him to the nearest wall. Merlin slumped to the floor pathetically. He was whiter than a sheet. "Are you alright?"

"Never better," Merlin managed, and coughed painfully. Arthur looked around. The hallway was deserted. Everyone was outside, celebrating the dragon's flight.

"Alright," He muttered. "I'm sorry if this isn't the best time, but for the love of Camelot, Merlin, you've got some explaining to do."

"Yeah," He pulled himself higher, and Arthur sat down next to him, watching the corners. "I know. I'm… I'm sorry, about the… dragon… lord thing." He wasn't speaking clearly. Arthur had trouble making out individual words. "I… my father was… a…" He dissolved into a fit of coughing, and Arthur had to pat his back a couple times to get him to breathe again.

"Alright," He muttered. "Definitely not a good time."

"No," Merlin protested as the prince stood , ready to get help. "I want… to say this. I'm a sorcerer. I've always been… had…" He swallowed with difficulty. Arthur could see his eyes becoming unfocused. "had magic. Since I could remember. I didn't… get it. I never… traded… my soul. I don't…"

"I know you're not evil, Merlin," Arthur said, stunned at the thought. "You're… an idiotic buffon. You can't even watch when we kill animals during a haunt." Merlin granted half a laugh, and Arthur smiled, glad to see his friend was still there somewhere. "Don't think I hadn't seen you averting your eyes. We'll talk about this later. Right now, I need to get you some help."

Merlin's blue eyes met his gratefully. Wordless, they spoke a world.

"I'm assuming you were the reason behind the dragon's mysterious disappearance that first time, too?"

"Nah," Merlin shock his head. "You did that, while you were unconscious."

"Can't believe I believed that."

"You won't believe what you've believed."

The grinned at each other.

"Gaius?" Merlin managed weakly.

"Right. Gaius. That."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

It seemed that all was well in Camelot.

The dragon had gone. The damage it had caused seemed, apart from the Wester Side, to be minimal. The celebrations would not continue as planned, but the feast had remained relatively unharmed, and the birthday would proceed as expected, while the stays of the royals would be cut very much short. They would be gone the following morning, as would all the traders who's wagons still stood.

The peasants, also, seemed to be well. Apart from the main road, most of the city was also unharmed, for the dragon had only one target in his furious rage: King Uther.

Atora had been accepted back into the arms of her hysterically sobbing mother with love and gratitude, and as she stood stonily between the woman's thin arms, she thought of her wizard's regretful longing as he turned away from her.

In the dungeons of the castle, the king's daughter tried to see into the future, now somehow altered beyond revision, for reasons she could not understand.

Gwen and the ill of the battles were treated in the large courtyard, under the sun's rays, by many royal physicians who had arrived.

Merlin, long unconciounce, was left in Gaius's caring hands while Prince Arthur commanded Lancelot to join him at the head of the table during his twenty third birthday feast.

So it seemed that all was well.

And yet...

Two men stood stonily before the chariot, staring emotionlessly forward.

They were as bold and as dark skinned as ever. The only difference were dozens of new scars covering their already patched together skin, and their robes, ripped, bloodied, and covered by dust and rubble from the collapse of the caves.

In the chariot, which was a new one, from one of the Ork's villages, sat another hardly changed man.

He was still small, and rat like. His eyes were still cold. Not a mark was seen on his skin. A man who owned so many sorcerers did not need to bear scars or wounds upon him.

But there was one difference in Amaroa, apart from his magically configured robes.

He wasn't smiling.

**Thank you to everyone who reviews or put this story in favorites or alerts! You're all brilliant and awesome!**

**I think I will continue this story, if only for the few people still reading. Things are starting to come together. It may not seem like it, but really, they are. Atora's purpose is coming into focus, while Norane's is coming to its end. And Amaroa isn't done yet...**

**I hope you keep reading and that you're ready for some exciting moments which are coming up next...**


End file.
